Ranma and Akane: A Love Story
by Speaker-to-Dreamworlds
Summary: Can Akane finally become a Hero? Can Ranma become a Hero ... again?
1. The First Day

Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only swinging on  
the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found  
them and please don't feed the Trolls.  
  
*Summer Lightning* is copyrighted by Garnet Rogers and *Lock Keeper* is  
copyright by Stan Rogers (RIP). The mangling they have been subjected  
to is my fault. If you haven't encountered them before go out and buy  
their CDs, they sings lots better than I write, and Stan's estate could  
use the cash.  
  
This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/  
  
Release 1.2 (Nov. 25, 2000)  
  
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[BGM : http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/mp3/Farewells.mp3]  
  
Begin at the beginning, continue through the end, then stop.  
  
[Images shift and flow on a darkened field. Nabiki wears a  
leather jacket and fedora, there is a small automatic pistol  
tucked into her waistband as she stares keenly into the  
distance. A small scar cuts across her lower jaw as she  
rotates before a field of emerald green, dissolving into mist  
that fades away ....]   
  
Everyone knows _that_.  
  
[Kasumi wears archaic full-plate armor of an alien and  
slightly disturbing mode. It is lacquered black with purple  
highlights, set off well by the deep purple background. She  
carries a long, curved sword in her left hand, resting its  
tip on the ground as she gestures with her right. In the  
shadows of the open-faced helm, her face is weary, and  
perhaps a little afraid. She turns to the side as the mist  
closes in and dissolves ....]  
  
That's because the beginning is where things ... begin, and the end is  
where things, er, end. So to speak. The beginning happens first and the  
end follows in due time. The past becomes the future, through the  
medium of the present.  
  
[Gally, of Gunmm, turns around before a blue background,  
dressed in an incongruous chef's outfit ....]  
  
Right?  
  
[Kodachi, dressed in an expensive business suit, leans  
forward at a desk, looking down with an alert, focused  
expression at a large scroll, covered with Chinese characters  
....]  
  
I mean, it's obvious. The Arrow of Time, cause and effect ... things  
like that. Causality, is what I mean here. The idea that the past  
_causes_ the present, and the present _causes_ the future. And if you  
tell the part of the story where things happen before you tell the part  
where you explain _why_ they happen that way, people get ...confused.  
Everybody agrees that's the way it goes.  
  
[A short girl dressed in jeans, boots and a long leather  
duster stands facing directly away from the viewer. Her face  
cannot be seen, because it is pressed firmly into the neck of  
a very serious looking Ryouga, who is dressed in his normal  
outfit and backpack and is hugging her around the shoulders  
as he looks directly out of the frame ....]  
  
Sometimes, it even works out that way.  
  
[Against a white background, Akane turns to the left to face  
the viewer. She is wearing a white silk shirt, a black  
leather vest and black velvet pants. And mirror-shades. She  
is carrying an enormous spiked mace horizontally in her hands  
and her features are split in a grin that can only be  
described as manic. Her long black hair streams behind her as  
she continues turning, and the last thing that can be seen as  
the mist closes in are the silver butterfly hair clips  
halfway down the long dark mane ....]  
  
Sometimes, it doesn't.  
  
[Onna-Ranma turns to the right toward the viewer before a  
background that is totally black. She is wearing armor of  
leather and metal, without a helmet, and apparently from a  
number of periods and styles. It's difficult to say  
precisely, because many of the details are blotted out by the  
blood which has splashed every part and surface. As she turns  
she holds a long, straight sword crossways across her body,  
extending out to her left with both hands on the hilt. As she  
completes her turn and faces the viewer head on, it can be  
seen that blood is splashed wetly up her left cheek, but her  
face is serene and calm. She stands face on to the viewer for  
a brief moment, and then brings the sword around in a  
horizontal cut across the field of view, leaving a line of  
blood red in its path. She then brings the sword over her  
head into a two-handed posture, and brings it down, leaving  
another blood red line ....]  
  
Because that's only one way to look at it. And so often, in this world,  
what _is_ depends on ... well ... what you're looking at.  
  
[The color spreads out from the two lines to cover the whole  
field of view, then slowly begins dripping down the screen,  
leaving an unrelieved black behind it. As the red tide  
retreats, it leaves behind it one shape that retains it  
carmine hue: a rearing horse in silhouette ....]  
  
For instance, if you look at things in the right manner, it's obvious  
that the future _must_ have existed first. That is, before there was  
_anything_ , there had to have been the potential for things. The  
future, in other words.  
  
[The roan stallion shifts from rearing to a trot, chased off  
the black field by a swirling gust of barely visible white  
wind from the left. As it leaves the dark background it gains  
definition, now looking like a real horse as it runs through  
verdant fields of high grass, startling gold and black  
butterflies, and chased by the wind ....]  
  
Then, the first moment happened, and that was the first time that there  
ever was a _present_.  
  
[As the horse trots on, it passes by an immense mountain in  
the background. Real and present, yet seeming as though  
created in the style of Chinese landscape portraiture ....]  
  
And then the first moment was over. In, so to speak, the past. And the  
second moment was in the present ... and so on.  
  
[Zooming in on the mountain, it can be seen to be clothed in  
forest on its foot-hills, but bare from two-thirds up until  
the very top, which is barren rock ....]  
  
So the future _causes_ the present, and drags the past along behind.  
  
[Growing from the barren rock at the top of the mountain, its  
roots winding down the mountain's face, to disappear into  
forested valleys, is an enormous ash tree ....]  
  
Right?  
  
[Pulling back from the mountain, the roan horse can be seen  
running down a hill, towards a small stream. As he leaps  
across the stream, the wind blows a shroud of fog across the  
whole scene ....]  
  
Don't think about it too hard, it's Zen, and you'll get a headache.  
  
[As the horse canters out of the mist he passes a cherry  
tree, gnarled and twisted by age and winds, but in full  
bloom. As the horse shifts into a gallop, the view locks on  
the tree, allowing the horse to gallop off scene, stage  
right. As the wind chases the horse off stage, it passes the  
tree, and the view is again blotted out, not by fog, but by  
floating cherry blossoms ....]  
  
Sometimes, the past _pushes_. And sometimes, the future _pulls_.  
  
[Traversing away from the flying blossoms, the view pans down  
to a clear pool of water, dark and still. Looking down into  
it as the background light dims, reflections of the moon and  
stars can be dimly seen for a moment. Then they are obscured  
by falling cherry blossoms, which quickly fill the pool from  
edge to edge ....]  
  
But the place where we _live_ is the present. The _now_ between the  
past and the future, between the beginning and the end, that is all we  
ever really get.  
  
[Again the white-tinged wind swirls, blowing the sakura away.  
The viewpoint sinks into the depths, until a single bright  
point of light, shining from the depths of the pool as the  
ripples fade, is the only thing to be seen ....]  
  
Once, there was a person who wanted to be a Hero. And have Adventures,  
and find True Love, and Make a Difference, and other nice things like  
that.  
  
[The single light expands, forming a perfect circle, hanging  
in mid-air. A curving line snakes across the center of the  
circle, forming a yin-yang symbol. Where the central line  
intersects the edges of the circle small circular icons form.  
On the left Akane's face flashes briefly; on the right,  
Ranma's. Then they vanish and the circle glows brighter for a  
moment, expanding about thirty percent in size, as the  
central line mutates into a triangle, point upwards ....]  
  
And a Hero's job, of course, is to _act_. To make decisions and take  
actions in the Now. And to pay the price that the Now demands.  
  
[New icons form at the intersections of triangle and circle.  
From the top and clockwise these are block capital letters: a  
Tau, a Mu and an Alpha. These mutate into hourglasses: The  
first with all the sand in the top, the second with the sand  
half-fallen, and the third with the sand all below. These  
again vanish, and the circle glows and expands again, as the  
triangle changes into a pentagon, point again upwards ....]  
  
Is it "be careful of getting what you wish for", or "be careful of  
wishing for what you get"?  
  
[New icons form, as before: the Chinese ideographs chun(2),  
huo(1), chen(2), shui(2), and jin(1); followed by the kanji  
for kokuuzou, hi, chi, mizu and kaze; followed by the Western  
astrological symbols for the Moon, Mars, Jupiter, Mercury and  
Venus. These hold a moment and vanish, as the circle glows  
and expands again, and the pentagon becomes an octagon, again  
on its points ....]  
  
But when your past pushes, and your future pulls, sometimes your  
present can become a bit ... complex.  
  
[This time the icons are: the Western symbols for the planets  
except for Pluto, in order, with the Moon taking Earth's  
place. Followed by the faces of the Senshi, again except for  
Pluto. Followed by more faces: Ranma, Akane, Ukyou, Shampoo,  
Kasumi, Nabiki, Kodachi, and Sayuri. Followed by more faces  
yet: Gally, OVA Ifurita, Iczer 2, Iczer 1, Ryouko, Belldandi,  
Urd and Skuld ....]  
  
And thereby hangs a tale.  
  
[The faces halt for a moment in time, as all the previous  
final symbols and lines glow for a brief moment. Then they  
change one final time, into Chinese ideographs. The other  
lines and figures vanish, leaving only the ideographs glowing  
against the blackness, slowly moving across the scene to fall  
into place in a single line. From left to right: chi(4),  
ma(3), bai(2), feng(1), tian(1), shan(1), sheng(4) and  
shu(4). These are then replaced by a Romanji title, like so:  
  
Chima Baifeng Tianshan Chun  
  
The viewpoint pulls back, and it can be seen that this is a  
reflection in the pool previously seen. The whitish wind  
swirls again, driving more Sakura petals to cover the pool  
and obscure the glowing writing. The petals drift for a  
moment and then the wind swirls again, shifting their  
arrangement and bringing new petals of a deeper, more reddish  
hue. These land so as to form new Romanji by their shapes.  
These letters say:  
  
Book One  
  
The wind swirls again, again rearranging the fallen petals.  
Now they read:  
  
Ranma and Akane: A Love Story  
  
The wind swirls one last time, blowing away the petals, and  
leaving the pool serene and still, and entirely dark.]  
  
[Fade to black. End BGM.]  
  
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*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.  
  
Rain. Postcard. Kitchen. Bed. Dojo. Bricks. "FIANCE'?!" Girl. Panda.  
Fight. CLONG! GROWF! Knock. Ranma.  
  
Seen it before, yes? In your sleep, behind your back, with your eyes  
closed, in the rain, right?  
  
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.  
  
This story doesn't start like that.  
  
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.  
  
_This_ story starts in darkness, late on a warm summer night without an  
artificial light for miles. _This_ story starts in a forest clearing  
lit by several billion stars and the thin sliver of a gibbous moon.  
  
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.  
  
_This_ story starts with a male figure stripped to the waist, using a  
bamboo handled shovel to (*Shnnnck*) loosen and turn earth that will be  
(*ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*) removed and tossed to the side.   
  
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.  
  
Figure about a half cubic foot of earth loosened and dug up per  
sequence.  
  
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.  
  
Figure a hole six feet long, by three feet wide, by five feet deep.   
  
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.  
  
Times eight.  
  
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.  
  
For those who have not been following along on their abaci, that's 1440  
*shnnnck*s and 4320 *ssshhpt*s.  
  
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.  
  
In just less than eight hours. Including wrapping the bodies, and  
filling in the graves.  
  
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.  
  
For what were, self-admittedly, bandits and highwaymen. Desperate  
criminals who, caught by the authorities, would assuredly have been  
hung, and the bodies left to rot.  
  
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.  
  
For men who, knowing this, and knowing the digger for a ronin, and  
hence both dangerous and broke, had nonetheless attempted to rob him.  
For men without honor or martial skill, who had fallen like weeds  
before the scythe. For outlaws who, had they somehow triumphed, would  
have spent not an iota of such effort for the traveler.  
  
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.  
  
Because honor and respect are paid _by_ the digger, and not _to_ the  
dug for? Because even scum and bandits are human, and are owed some  
kind of marker?   
  
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.  
  
Because the duty owed by a slayer to his own soul demands a remembrance  
of the slain, lest they die twice? Or simply because it was necessary  
that the service be performed and no one else is around to do it?  
  
*Shnnnck*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*, *ssshhpt*.  
  
The digger jumps out of the last grave, places the final body in its  
final resting place and says a final abbreviated prayer. Filling the  
grave takes little time, building the cairn of stones to mark the  
burial takes a little longer, preparing to move again longer still.   
  
And then the figure pauses, and looks down the road by the forest  
clearing, and looks behind at the road already traveled, and looks up  
to a sky just beginning to lighten in the east, and becomes briefly  
still.  
  
It had been less than three days between incidents. Both faces were  
becoming targets of local toughs and fast swords. He had been forced to  
kill more than 45 times in the past month.   
  
Or had he? His skill was great after all. He was fast and strong and  
capable of techniques that your average thug, or even ronin, wouldn't  
dare dream of attempting. Had it simply become easier to kill than not  
to? And what did that say of *his* soul, in the end?  
  
Perhaps it was time to try somewhere else? After all there _was_ less  
than a year to go. It really was time to get back where he belonged.  
Time to go somewhere you could defeat someone _without_ killing them.   
  
Time to go back to what was, theoretically, home.   
  
And the traveler reached into his shirt, and pulled out an amulet of  
silver, and clay, and glass, and raised it high.  
  
And the rising sun shone down on a clearing in a forest by a road, on  
which was now to be seen no traveler, nor footprints, nor anything else  
at all.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
And this is a bar in China where a man is sitting by himself in a  
corner, getting stinking drunk. 'Oh Buddha, I'm doomed. How did I let  
this happen? Nodoka's going to _kill_ me. Where _did_ that ungrateful  
boy get to? Why did I have to try that _stupid_ training technique?  
Susano-o protect me, Nodoka's going to _kill_ me. Who knows what  
silliness he'll have picked up without me? I'll never have enough time  
to train him out of his bad habits now! Compassionate Amida, Nodoka's  
going to _kill_ me.'  
  
'Now now, Genma, get a hold of yourself; you trained him for seven  
years and he's surely a man-among-men, and hardship toughens you up,  
and he's certainly alive even if you can't find hide nor hair of him,  
and he promised on his honor, and he never breaks a promise, and you'll  
get to Jhusenkyou first and get a good look at the ground so you'll  
have an advantage in the fight, and he won't be as good as you anyway  
cause he didn't have you to keep an eye on him, and you'll have _weeks_  
to fix his bad habits, and... Oh Ameratasu aid me, Nodoka's going to  
_kill_ me.'  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
And this is Fukuoka, a port city on Kyushu where a person who is  
apparently a somewhat bishonen lad packing a _huge_ spatula is  
bargaining for a boat ride to China. She'd tracked Genma to China at  
last and this time her family's honor _would_ be cleared, one way or  
another.  
  
And this is a small village in Qing-Hai where the local champion is  
preparing to defend her title. And wondering where a warrior husband  
strong enough for her to marry was going to come from anyway.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
And this is a bedroom in a dojo in a suburb of Tokyo, where a certain  
girl is preparing for bed; after all, there's school in the morning.  
School. And boys. Yay.  
  
She'd tried, she really had. She'd tried to find one she could stand to  
date. She'd tried to get the usual pack of fools to _stop_ their  
foolishness, peacefully and otherwise. It just hadn't worked.   
  
'Every school day, _every_ school day. For more than a year. I'm a  
Junior now, I'm supposed to be past hazing aren't I? They're supposed  
to be at least a little mature aren't they? Or at least tired of  
getting beaten up all the time?'  
  
Every day, for more than a year. And she hadn't lost, and she hadn't  
given up... but neither had they. And she was tired, so tired.   
  
And Tendo Akane went to bed, hoping for something to break her out of a  
losing rut. And went to sleep, although she didn't want to. After all,  
there was school in the morning.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
And this is a small apartment, likewise in Nerima. And in it a man last  
seen in a forest clearing is performing a slow kata. A very old kata,  
were anyone else in Japan today capable of recognizing it. A kata not  
of attack, or evasion, or defense ... but rather of remembrance. Of a  
Bargain that was made, and a Prize that could be gained, and a Price  
that must be paid. A very old bargain, that has something to do with  
Iron.  
  
And he too is hoping, and waiting for the morning. He hadn't had to  
kill anyone yet, but in every other way the last several months had  
been a disaster. Oh well, perhaps he simply wasn't _meant_ for romance?  
After all, father had probably provided for a marriage long ago, and  
while he didn't like it, he had accepted it for the sake of family  
honor. Actually falling in love with someone was probably tempting  
fate.  
  
Which brought up an issue, actually; what face was he going to wear?  
Flip a coin? Tails. Female. So be it. 'Now get to bed Ranma, you've got  
school in the morning.'  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Shadow Lurker Productions   
Is very proud to present  
An Eric Hallstrom Production  
Of a Takahashi Rumiko Film  
  
Chima Baifeng Tianshan Chun  
  
Book I  
  
Ranma and Akane, A Love Story  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Chapter 1: The first day  
Part A: Arrival; Here's Ranma.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
This is the story of a boy who was a girl, and a girl, and a boy, and a  
girl, and a boy, and a girl, and a girl who acts like a boy, and a boy  
who acts like a girl, and a woman, and a man, and another couple girls,  
and a cast of thousands. And a Panda, though not until much later. And  
butterflies, lots and lots of butterflies.   
  
It's the story of a school, and another school, and another school; of  
a city and a village and all the roads in between. It's a story of  
desperate battle and deadly opponents, and when, later, it attempts to  
be a story of monsters and villains who attack these schools and so on,  
it will instead become the story of monsters and villains who turn  
around and run away -- at least, those of them who get the chance.   
  
It will have true love, and desperate peril, and romantic intervals and  
high adventure and more martial arts action sequences than you can  
shake a bokken at. And just a touch of citrus, for flavor. But before  
it will be those stories, it will be the story of a Fight.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Some schools are known for academics and some are known for sports.  
Furinkan High, in the Nerima ward of Tokyo, was known for the Fight.   
  
Every school day for more than a year, the boys of the student body had  
either lain in wait to "win the right to date the fair and beauteous  
tiger Tendo Akane" (i.e. beat her up) or, if they had done that  
recently, had attempted to heal up for the Fight tomorrow.  
  
The girls all thought the whole thing was a ploy by Akane to keep the  
attention of the entire male student populace and had no sympathy for  
either side.   
  
The populace of the neighborhood thought it was High Theater (not much  
else happened in Nerima).   
  
Tendo Nabiki thought it had gone much too far, but could think of no  
viable way to stop something that no longer had a real reason except  
tradition.   
  
And Tendo Akane vanquished her opponents, and ignored the whispers, and  
grew ever grimmer as the days went by.  
  
And today will be no different, after all it never is at Furinkan. All  
the normal players are in place: here is the assembled might of  
Furinkan's male student body, prepared to do battle in heroic silliness  
for a prize they no longer remember; here are the observers waiting for  
a sight they've seen before, and grown bored of; and here is Akane  
herself grimly preparing to fight for a point of honor she can no  
longer care about; all just as it was yesterday and the day before. And  
now Akane has broken into a run at her tormentors, and now the battle  
is about to be joined. But now, now something ... different ... has  
happened.  
  
Now a voice has called out, not even very loudly. A smokey contralto  
with a slight edge of roughness, and power enough to crack the world. A  
voice that merely by its presence has controlled the situation. A voice  
that belongs to a shortish, athletic girl standing in the gateway to  
the school.   
  
She wears loose black velvet pants, three-inch black leather moccasins,  
a loose blue silk shirt and a brown leather airman's jacket. Her  
flaming scarlet hair flows down her back in a pigtail tied with an  
ivory ring in which gems gleam brightly in the sun. Her neck is wrapped  
by a flowing white silk scarf, her hands are in her jacket pockets, her  
head is slightly tilted to one side and she has just said "Would  
someone like to tell me what the _Hell_ they think they're doing?"   
  
And nothing will ever be the same again.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Takuichi Daikun was not a happy kendoist. He had striven and won in  
honorable combat for the privilege of leading today's charge so that  
the entire school could see his honorable struggle with the fair Tendo  
Akane. (He's the first to get beaten up today.) It was a great honor to  
be first, and he had looked forward to it. But now his moment in the  
sun had been _ruined_, upstaged by some ... barbarian _girl_ ... and  
his honor had been shadowed. And so it was that he did a _very_ foolish  
thing: he got her attention.   
  
"This is an affair of Honor _girl_, who are you to..."  
  
Somehow she had moved across the dozen yards separating them without  
his seeing it. Up close he noted that her eyes were an incredible blue  
as deep as all the worlds' oceans, that several slight lines of old  
scars crossed the sides of her face, that her gaze was literally  
_impossible_ to look away from, and that she had just tapped him on the  
nose.  
  
"My _name_ is Ranma. I asked you a question."  
  
From far away he heard his voice stammering some sort of explanation  
for the morning's action. Now that he thought about it, it did seem  
sort of silly.  
  
"Ah. I see. and what was your place in this ... 'honorable combat'." An  
even, calm voice, nigh unto serenity.  
  
"I have won the right to first contact today. It is a very great  
honor." He hadn't really said that had he? He hadn't meant to.   
  
"Ah. Well I certainly wouldn't wish to deprive you of your... 'honor'."   
  
The hands that broke his shoulder blades and dislocated his arms were  
certainly gentle he thought, though unstoppable in their power. The  
snap kicks that flattened his testicles and broke both of his lower  
legs skillfully applied and blinding in their speed. The twin open hand  
push that flung him a dozen yards backwards was so fast and yet so  
graceful as to be beyond belief. And was that an energy discharge from  
the point of contact? 'Why, it doesn't even hurt' he thought as he flew  
backwards through the air. Until five feet before hitting the wall,  
whereupon it hurt a _lot_. The loss of consciousness that followed  
after hitting the wall was probably a mercy.  
  
Ranma turned to the remaining assembled male students and bestowed upon  
them the calm, angelic smile of someone who is wondering how far your  
arm can be pulled from its socket before the flesh and ligaments  
separate, and whether beating you to death with it will require one  
subsequent blow or two.  
  
Above, Nabiki stared down in shock. Well _that_ was different.  
  
"Now I was sitting in a tavern in a country far away a couple months  
back," she remarked conversationally, "trying to get something to eat.  
And the door opened and in walked the nastiest trio of villains you  
ever did lay eyes on. They were dragging along a youngish girl who  
really didn't seem to want to be there, (what with the torn clothing  
and the bruises and all) and in ... speaking ... to them it developed  
that yeah they had kidnapped her, and yeah they had done what you think  
they'd done, and oh yeah just cause they could, cause no-one could stop  
em."  
  
She shook her head in dismay. "So I ripped the big one's heart out, and  
broke the second's neck and used a chair to crush the skull of the one  
who was running away. Because it was the right thing to do."  
  
Nabiki registered further shock. Well, that _was_ different.   
  
"Now I'm not saying that this case is exactly similar, mind you, but  
you do know how badly you've been insulting the other girls in the  
school, right?"  
  
Students.Furinkan.male.assembled quivered in terror and huddled  
together.  
  
"And while I _myself_ am the most gentle and reasonable of people, I  
understand that _other_ people aren't and if _they_," she waved her  
hand at the watchers above, "should decide to hold a _grudge_, well  
.... Things could become ... dire."  
  
The word "dire" seemed to resonate with especial doom.  
  
"Continued for a whole _year_? Why I doubt if _any_ amount of flowers  
would help. You'd have to escalate straight to chocolate or even  
jewelry even to get a chance to plead your case."  
  
Ranma shook her head sadly at the fate that no doubt awaited them. "And  
you still standing there."  
  
Students.Furinkan.male.assembled blanched further and scrambled en  
masse for the door to the fire within that seemed nonetheless much to  
be preferred to the merciless gaze without, only to be recalled to  
heel.  
  
"Oh and by the way gentlemen... if it _should_ happen that intense  
currying of favor _does_ grant you the no-doubt-undeserved opportunity  
to plead for your miserable lives... my advice to you would be to  
grovel, and to grovel quite abjectly."  
  
Nabiki wondered if you could overload on shock. That had been  
_different_. And then looked about her, and heard the all but audible  
grinding of the gears in the heads of the other female onlookers, and  
saw the slowly growing grins, and then sprinted for the door. A phone,  
she had to get to a phone.  
  
Ranma crossed her arms in front of her chest and shook her head sadly  
at the mass of boyish silliness frantically cramming itself through  
Furinkan's front doors, and turned to Akane, who was still standing  
where she had been about to knock Daikun into next week and whose mouth  
was still open in shock.  
  
"Aheh," she sheepishly tugged on her braid, "sorry about that.  
Sometimes I get carried away."  
  
Akane shook herself and closed her mouth. "No, not at all. You were  
_wonderful_! I'm Tendo Akane, wanna be friends?"  
  
"Sure!" Ranma's eyes lit. Akane was staggered again by their power. "If  
you've been going through that every day for a _year_ you _need_ a  
friend and it's always nice to make one the first day. I'm Bushiko  
Ranma." She extended her hand, pinky outstretched and Akane linked hers  
likewise.  
  
Talking quietly they walked in the door and up the stairs.  
  
"Tendo Akane, huh? 'Scarlet Road to Heaven', how lovely."   
  
Akane felt her cheeks heat. "Um, thanks! Um, Bushiko?"  
  
"It's a nom de guerre," Ranma explained sunnily, "long story, I'll tell  
you later."  
  
"The heck with _that_ story; _how_ did you do that _push_? That was  
_great_!"  
  
"You think so? It's not that hard: you just..."  
  
And walked happily to class, and smiled merrily upon the cringing boys  
therein, and did _not_ gloat. At least, not on the outside.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma & Akane: A Love Story  
Chapter 1: The First Day  
Part B: Encampment; Kuno Strikes Out.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
It was odd, Akane reflected; she had never met a person to whom she had  
so instantly taken. Ranma was almost paralyzing in the sheer force of  
her presence, and yet that presence seemed to drive everyone around her  
to exceed themselves.  
  
The morning had been ... interesting. She had devoted much of it to the  
(admittedly somewhat arcane) study of the Japanese Red-headed Martial  
Artist. Nor was this an unpopular area of scholarly effort that day.  
  
Ranma was, on the whole, a mystery wrapped around an enigma, bundled in  
a wrapping of urbanely refined nastiness. She had cheerfully admitted  
to having "A Gentleman's education: art, tactics and poetry," and her  
performance had seemed to bear her out.   
  
She was barely adequate in math, for example, and had no concept of  
Algebra; yet her grasp of Japanese history was excellent, punctuated by  
many anecdotes and asides. Her English was much better than anyone else  
in class, including the teacher, and she could quote a wide range of  
poetry and poesy from memory, yet she seemed to have a very eccentric  
(to say the least) view of the physical sciences and her approach to  
the social sciences verged on outright anarchy.   
  
Class 2-F was scheduled to take up physical education and music after  
lunch: Akane was looking forward to seeing Ranma in action in Phys-ed,  
and, considering her incredible voice, in Music too.  
  
But both of these would wait until after lunch and Akane was looking  
forward to that as well. Lunch would, after all, allow her to question  
Ranma more closely about several matters: murder, for one, and what she  
meant by 'nom de guerre', and what her history had been; many such  
questions were bubbling in her head, looking for answers.   
  
Fortunately for Akane's fragile patience, lunch was not long delayed.  
The temporarily released students scattered over the Furinkan grounds,  
Ranma and Akane claiming a shaded spot next to the Furinkan wall. No  
one seemed inclined to join them, which was just as well, Akane felt,  
as it afforded privacy.  
  
"Okay," Akane said brightly, "tell me about Bushiko, and why it's a nom  
de guerre. And what you're doing under a nom de guerre anyway."   
  
"Well... Um. Basically it started when I was five or so. That was when  
my Dad decided that I wouldn't get adequate training in the Art at  
home, so he took me on a permanent training trip."  
  
"We traveled a lot," Ranma continued, "and didn't settle in one place  
for more than four months or so for the next six years. Then Dad found  
this _stupid_ Martial Arts training manual that was supposed to show  
how to train for an 'invincible technique'."  
  
"Feh," Ranma brooded for a minute, then resumed. "Anyway, _after_ the  
training he discovered that the reason nobody uses that technique is  
that, _even if it works_, it makes you psychotic."   
  
Akane gasped, and Ranma nodded.  
  
"After that, Dad tried to keep 'training' me, but I nearly killed him  
three times in the next week. I knew it wasn't going to get any better  
either, so I beat him up instead, and then left him behind. I told him  
that he'd trained me for six years and now I was going to go away and  
train myself for six years, and at the end of that time I'd fight him  
for mastery of the school. If he beat me I'd stay in training under him  
for as long as he wanted, but if I beat him he'd go back to work to  
raise money until the school got back on its feet, and then retire."  
  
"That was more than five years ago," Ranma continued, "and I've got  
about six months to go."  
  
Akane leaned closer concernedly. "How terrible! It must have been very  
hard on you!"  
  
"Less so than you'd think," Ranma replied. "I admit it wasn't easy, but  
I'd been doing most of the domestic stuff anyway: Dad's hopeless at  
anything that means he'd have to work. So, the only real problem was  
fixing the damage he'd done. It took six months, but I found a temple  
on Honshu and locked the technique away and the craziness with it."  
  
"But you're fine now?" Akane said, still concerned.  
  
"Mostly, though I'm still afraid of cats."  
  
"Cats? Why cats?"  
  
"Because ..."  
  
Alas for the state of Akane's curiosity, the conversation was to be  
interrupted. And by none other than the usual suspect for interruptions  
at Furinkan, that paragon of honor, that champion of sport, that noble  
traveler in hakama, the Blue Thunder of Furinkan High, Kuno Tatewaki.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Tatewaki himself was experiencing a state of mind that was highly  
unusual to him: doubt. He had been angered (once he had taken a moment  
to consider it) by the fire-haired barbarian's accusation that any  
action he had ever undertaken was less than perfectly honorable, much  
less... that word. It couldn't be... that word... could it?   
  
After all he had always allowed his Beauteous Tiger to win, had he not?  
(He knew, of course, that no girl, Beauteous Tiger or no, could resist  
his masculine might.) So he had allowed her to work through her  
shyness, trusting in the day when she would see the purity of his  
affections, cast off her maidenlike reluctance, and allow him to date  
her.  
  
Now, however, the purity of his motives had been called into question.  
Looked at in a certain light it could almost be said that his honor had  
been sullied. If he did not redress the situation, and soon, his fair  
flower might well (horrors) _believe_ the libelous, malicious _lies_  
proposed by that... that...   
  
Well, of course, it was not fair to expect too much from the flame-  
haired Amazon. She was obviously some variety of barbarian and new to  
Furinkan besides: she couldn't be _expected_ to see the true nobility  
of his motives.   
  
But that at least was easily remedied. If he simply displayed the  
excellence of his martial skills by defeating her, she would quickly  
come to understand the rightness of his cause. No doubt her savage  
heart would be won over to its rightful place as well, and then, well,  
the possibilities were unbounded. He might even end up with _two_  
maidens to be beaten up by.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
At this time the narrator of this story would like to interject an  
explanation for the lack of thought quotes in the preceding passages.  
The reason can be stated simply: both the Author and the Narrator  
posses the greatest of respect for the noble scion of Kuno, and would  
never dream of accusing him of thought.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Unfortunately for Tatewaki, however, more than one worry wrinkled his  
noble brow as he stood before his locker some five minutes before Ranma  
and Akane's conversation was interrupted. The other worry was simply  
stated: should he take along his sword?   
  
There were arguments for and against, of course. Against such an action  
must stand the fact that the red-headed barbarian had not, till now,  
deserved of him such a drastic response; likewise that bared steel was  
after all both excessive and inappropriate for instruction or for  
courting a shy maiden's hand. On the 'for' scale, alternately, lay the  
undeniable fact that she had boasted of recently killing no fewer than  
three opponents. Gross and disgusting men, no doubt, lacking in honor  
and skill, and certainly deserving of their fates, but....  
  
Fortunately, the noble Kuno mind was more than equal to the challenge  
even of so momentous a decision, quickly supplying an answer both  
sagacious and honorable: he would take the sword (in case of need), but  
keep it concealed (to avoid unnecessary maidenly fright).  
  
And so it was that the noble and glorious Kuno Tatewaki, fortified with  
blade and bokken, and prepared for every contingency, stood near his  
beloved and her companion some five minutes later. Prepared to issue a  
challenge both martial and kindly, such as to make clear not only the  
rightness of his cause, but also his essential magnificence.   
  
In what should come as no real surprise to anyone who has read this  
far, he got it wrong.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma looked up at the annoying fool who was attempting to overawe her  
and then tilted her head at Akane, "And this is who?"  
  
"I, fair maiden, am Kuno Tatewaki, the Blue Thunder of Furinkan High.  
You may address me as 'upperclassman Kuno' when you ask my pardon for  
your deplorable sin. For, by my sword's honor the worth of the Blue  
Thunder is as great as his wrath, nor ever has he stooped to other than  
honorable action, nor..."  
  
"Lad ... _Lad_," Ranma interrupted, "before you go challenging me to a  
sword fight, it _might_ be a good idea to find yourself a sword."  
  
"A sword I possess," Tatewaki replied frostily, "its name is Asatsuyu  
('Morning Dew') and its lineage is ..."  
  
"Ah," Ranma deadpanned, rising smoothly to her feet, "mine is named  
Tenchuu no yasashigena ('The Gentle Kiss of Heaven', 'Heaven's Kiss').  
Akane, will you call the dance?"  
  
"But of course, Ranma," Akane replied. She, too, rose to her feet and  
took position just outside of a virtual twenty-foot circle that seemed  
to have magically appeared around the two sword bearers. "_Assume_!"  
  
Tatewaki slowly drew his Katana and assumed chudan, reaching as his  
training indicated for the dominance, the mental struggle that begins a  
match. "I am Kuno Tatewaki, of the Spinning Shears School of Kendo,  
champion of Furinkan High." His voice attempted firmness, yet his  
thoughts were in turmoil, 'I did not wish a duel with _steel_,  
something is wrong, her eyes, they are so ... blue ...'.  
  
Ranma pulled a sheathed blade of the tachi pattern from beneath her  
jacket and held it loosely at her side. "I am Bushiko Ranma, who may  
claim no school," her voice was again pleasant and conversational, "a  
humble pilgrim on the road."  
  
In contrast to the shaken kendoist her thoughts revolved around one  
theme only: 'Remember, _don't kill him_;' and her calm, passionless  
regard was a stone on which Tatewaki's concentration splashed like sea  
wrack before a storm.  
  
Some seven seconds a stillness passed between the two, while Akane held  
her hand on high. And then she let it fall, "Kumite!"  
  
And then the storm began.  
  
Ranma seemed to blur to most watching eyes, yet to Tatewaki she was  
clear as day, though he himself seemed mired in mud. She crossed the  
twenty feet between them in a single gliding step while her sword came  
to hasso-no-kame just above her shoulder and its sheath spun about  
fifteen feet up in the air like a black-lacquered frisbee. Then she was  
past him, and his katana belled as she struck through his defense and  
he gasped in surprise as his racing perceptions _saw_ the point turn  
aside from his heart and tear through about two inches of flesh on his  
upper arm.  
  
He turned half about with the force of the blow and felt the beginnings  
of pain before she spun in a perfect hi-low slash, both of which evaded  
his fumbling blade to spray blood from two slashes over his cheeks, and  
to cut through his hakama to score both thighs. She took another step  
forward and began a pattern of lightning fast light blows, none of  
which even came close to being blocked, and all of which drew blood.  
  
Tatewaki was driven, stumbling, back until he was almost against the  
outer wall of the schoolyard. Briefly, he rallied enough to return his  
sword to something approximating a guard position, before Ranma blurred  
even to his racing perceptions, seeming to appear on both sides of him  
at once. Pain exploded through his body as more than 50 minor cuts  
struck all over his torso, arms and legs at once. Then, as he stumbled  
back, Ranma set herself and snapped forward once more.   
  
The first strike cut across the top of both hands, knocking the sword  
from his grip in a gleaming mid-air circle. The second, reversed,  
strike snapped the flying blade in half before his eyes, driving him  
all the way back to the wall. The final, two handed, decapitation  
strike blazed in unstoppably, flickering blurrily to kiss the skin on  
his neck ... and then _stop_, motionless.  
  
Trembling, Tatewaki looked up into emotionless blue eyes and the  
passionless, restrained violence of a tornado. And suddenly, in what  
may have been the only genuinely inspired moment of his life to that  
point, received a vision. A vision of Ranma, clad in armor, and  
wielding the sword pressed against his throat, slaughtering her way  
through what seemed to him to be an entire army. A vision that showed  
him, in no uncertain terms, the difference between fencing on the Dojo  
floor, and life and death by the sword. Of the difference between a  
person who could swing a sword, and one who could kill with it; and,  
more importantly, in this moment choose _not_ to kill with it.   
  
And for the first time in his life, Kuno Tatewaki looked his own Art in  
the face, and was ashamed. And buried his head in his hands, pushing  
down the blade at his neck, and wept.  
  
And Ranma lowered her blade and said "Aye, now. You've learned that  
lesson. And you'll have scars to remind you of it, as scars tend to  
do."  
  
And she quirked a smile, highlighting the scars prominent around her  
own mouth. And Tatewaki, looking up, essayed a tentative smile of his  
own.  
  
She walked over to her scabbard, picked it up, and put Tenchuu away.  
Then she picked up the two halves of Tatewaki's katana, and returning  
to stand in front of him, held them out to him to take.  
  
"It's said that the soul of a samurai is his sword, Kuno Tatewaki.  
Yours would appear to be broken. Perhaps, before you call yourself a  
samurai again, you should spend some time mending it."  
  
And then she returned to her seat by the wall, and Akane sat by her.  
And Kuno Tatewaki turned away, holding the remnants of his blade, and  
stumbled off to the infirmary, to patch his wounds.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"It is my firm conviction," Ranma said, "that it is a gentleman's  
highest duty to smoke out silliness like that, and step on it."   
  
"But, Ranma, you're not a gentleman."  
  
"And why not?"  
  
"Because, use the masculine forms how you may, it's obvious you're  
_not_ a boy."  
  
"Feh," Ranma waved a dismissing hand, "Details. Mere details."   
  
Akane leaned close, "Ranma, you've _got_ to teach me how to do some of  
that."  
  
"Er, but, don't you have a sensei already?" Ranma nervously asked.   
  
"Only my Dad, and he hasn't trained me seriously in years."   
  
"Er ... *sigh*, OK, we'll go to your place later and see what you need  
to work on."  
  
And they shook hands on the deal as the bell rang to bring lunch to a  
close. Which was perhaps unfortunate, as it meant that the _other_  
important question she had meant to ask slipped her mind completely,  
until much later.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Physical Education, for Ranma, at least, was curtailed due to the  
sensei's conviction that, before a place in the class structure might  
be assigned to her, her overall level of accomplishment must be  
measured. Since the limited resources of the main gym proved incapable  
even of causing Ranma sufficient exertion to change into gym uniform,  
much less break a sweat, the sensei excused her of further toil that  
day. Then the sensei excused _herself_ to sulk, and to plot further,  
more strenuous tests for the morrow.  
  
In the last period of the day, Music for class 2-F brought the usual  
sounds of tortured musical instruments resounding through the room.  
Akane, Ranma grumbled, had not had an opportunity to demonstrate her  
skill. Most of the other students had, but unfortunately 'qualified'  
was a rare description of ability indeed as far as they were concerned.   
  
Then it was Ranma's turn, and she drew her guitar from the same place  
she stowed her sword and ran through basic scales, and chords, and  
parts of tunes to the music teacher's instructions. She was, it was  
noted to few people's surprise, easily better than anyone else in the  
class, save perhaps for Akane.  
  
As the end of the class drew close the teacher asked Ranma if she was  
any good at song.  
  
Ranma hefted her guitar and grinned, "What song would you like."  
  
"You pick," came the response.  
  
Ranma grinned again, and poised her hand above the strings. "Alright,  
here's a love song then."  
  
And then Akane heard, for the first time, the song she would, in later  
times, come to regard as the song closest to her understanding of  
Ranma's true heart.  
  
I was riding west, through Ontake Mountains.  
The hills were heavy with new-fallen snow,  
And the sun-bright hills were dappled like a pony,  
I was riding hard, I had miles to go.  
  
And a magpie flew, 'cross the mountain highway,  
It flashed and tumbled, through the golden trees,  
And I thought of you, and my heart was lifted,  
And floated with that magpie, on the morning breeze.  
  
We are brief Summer lightning,  
We are swift as swallows' flight.  
We are sparks that spiral upwards,  
In the darkness of the night.  
We are frost upon the window,  
We won't pass this way again,  
In the end only love remains.  
  
Tonight the Harvest Moon hangs over the valley,  
I see the hills shine, in its silvery light.  
It's the same old Moon, that shines down upon me,  
And'll light my way, till I'm by your side.  
  
For where I go, You go with me,   
Though the miles keep us apart.  
Your kisses on my lips, and your arms around me,  
And your gentle hands, always on my heart.  
  
We are brief Summer lightning,  
We are swift as swallows' flight.  
We are sparks that spiral upwards,  
In the darkness of the night.  
We are frost upon the window,  
We won't pass this way again,  
In the end only love remains.  
  
Well who scattered these diamonds,   
Through the vault of Heaven?  
Who drew the curve of the magpie's wing?  
Who shaped your face, and what made you love me?  
Where is the heart of every living thing?  
  
Well, I guess I don't know, and I don't care either.  
I know you love me, how could it not be?  
And I am yours, now and forever,  
'Til my lips fall silent, and my eyes can't see.  
  
We are brief Summer lightning,  
We are swift as swallows' flight.  
We are sparks that spiral upwards,  
In the darkness of the night.  
We are frost upon the window,  
We won't pass this way again,  
In the end Dear, only love remains.  
  
And as Ranma finished the song and lowered her head, the school day of  
Furinkan came to its end.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma & Akane: A Love Story  
Chapter 1: The First Day  
Part C: Circumvallation; Shopping for Street-gangs.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma lowered her head; and the song, and Furinkan's school day, came  
to an end. Rising to her feet, she bowed to the rest of the class, who  
bowed back. An unbiased observer would have seen that several of them  
were suspiciously misty-eyed, but, fortunately, unbiased observers were  
thin on the ground at Furinkan that day. So this enormous breach of  
etiquette went unnoticed.  
  
Akane rose too, and behind her the rest of the class. Flowing out of  
their classroom, at the very back end of Furinkan's main building, and  
down the stairs, they noticed that they were about to resolve a mystery  
that had been plaguing some of them all day. First there would be a  
noise as of someone shouting from afar. Then there would be a rumble,  
as of many feet rumbling one way and then another. Finally a distant  
murmur as of many voices, one to another, in the manner of a school  
building when rumor has broken from its pen, or news runs flashing  
through the halls.  
  
Annoyingly, though, the disturbance had never approached class 2-F  
closely enough for the inhabitants thereof to make out what was  
happening. Nor had rumor spread, if rumor it had been, to the class'  
distant door. Nor had any class member obtained an explanation at lunch  
(unless, perhaps, it might have been in distant, unobserved corners,  
under strict and bloodthirsty oaths of secrecy).  
  
So, to some of the class, the whole matter was still mysterious, and  
Akane was frankly ignorant. What Ranma might have thought of the matter  
she did not say, though, perhaps, she may have guessed.  
  
Thus, when, as they approached the front of Furinkan building, the  
noises from outside became clearer, it was Akane who pushed ahead.  
Ranma, instead, pulled a Samurai's fan from her jacket sleeve, flipped  
it open, and, gently fanning herself, walked forward to join Akane on  
the Furinkan front steps, grinning.  
  
As she reached the top of the steps, and looked out on the yard, that  
grin became a full fledged chuckle. Spread out around the Furinkan yard  
("Roses, getcher bunch Roses heaahh!") were a number of mobile vendors  
("Caannndy, Bon-Bons, onna stick!") selling, or rather, _outrageously  
gouging_, the various implements of girlfriend pacification ("Joolry,  
getcher Joolry now-ow, best prices inna city, Guv'na").  
  
On the way down the steps she passed Nabiki, standing slightly apart,  
grinning in glee and using a walkie-talkie to direct ("Short-term  
loaanns, only thirty percent interest over one month, just for you  
Guv'na, and I'm cuttin' me own throat") the efforts of her minions.  
Reaching over as she passed, she tapped Nabiki on the shoulder and  
said, "You're welcome," and then followed Akane through the schoolyard  
to the street, still fanning herself gently, and still chuckling.  
  
As they neared the gate, she drew level with Akane, who glanced aside  
at the fan still waving gently in her hand.  
  
"A little old fashioned, isn't that?" Akane asked.  
  
"Oh no, It's entirely practical. Personal protection, you know."  
  
Another sideways glance. "It's a war fan? Razor edges and such?"   
  
"Oh no, not at all. The virtue of the warrior, after all, exists in the  
warrior's soul. The weapon ..." passing next to the gate-post she swung  
the fan through it, apparently without effect, "is merely the  
expression of it." Behind them, as she walked on still gently fanning,  
the gate-post divided itself at chest height, fell to the ground, and  
shattered into dust.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Some blocks away, while passing through a park on the way to the  
Akane's house, Ranma finally broke the companionable silence they had  
fallen into.   
  
"Would have been nice if some of that apologizing the guys were doing  
back there had fallen on the primary offendee."  
  
"Mmm. I don't know" Akane replied, "they might have been worried that  
I'd get mad at them for trying."  
  
"Would you have?"  
  
"Don't know, depends on how they did it, I suppose. I think I've been  
given more than enough insincere flowers over the past year, anyway."   
  
Ranma, was just then passing by a hedge of wild roses in the park,  
which filled the air with a slightly bitter perfume. Her fan flashed  
momentarily in the sun and sliced an eight inch length of vine from the  
hedge, which she quickly wove into a slightly prickly wreath.   
  
"How about sincere flowers?" she mused, turning the roses over in her  
hands, and offering them to Akane.  
  
Akane paused and turned to face her, her eyes huge and dark in her  
face. "Ranma-san?!?"  
  
Ranma shrugged, and grinned lopsidedly, "I just don't think that, when  
_all_ the girls are getting flowers, that any _particular_ girl should  
be neglected. People might get to thinking that she wasn't good enough  
to get flowers or something. It _might_ even hurt her feelings.  
Avoiding hurt feelings is one of the most important tasks a gentleman  
can perform, after all. And I _am_ a gentleman."  
  
"Of course you are" Akane smiled cutely at Ranma, "but I can't wear  
flowers unless you wear them too."  
  
"Then crowned with flowers we both shall be!" laughing, Ranma bowed  
flamboyantly. Her fan flashed again, and, crowned with flowers, as she  
had said, the two friends walked on, towards Akane's home.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma looked at the sign hung on the building's outside wall. "The  
Tendo Dojo, hmm? You hadn't said that your family owned your own Dojo,  
Akane-san."  
  
"Dad hasn't done much teaching the past several years," Akane replied  
absently as she entered the house, "Hello, I'm home!"   
  
Ranma followed her inside and clapped once as she toed off her  
slippers. "Excuse me for disturbing you!" she called.  
  
"Oh, my!" came a sweet voice from the kitchen, "We have a guest!"   
  
Hard on the heels of the voice came the speaker, a tall, sweet-faced,  
girl, apparently a few years older than Akane. Ranma bowed to her  
politely, and raised an eyebrow at Akane.  
  
"Ranma-san, this is my older sister Kasumi," Akane said, "Kasumi-  
oneechan, this is my new friend from school, Bushiko Ranma."   
  
"Welcome to our home, Bushiko-san," Kasumi chirped, "will you be  
staying for dinner?"  
  
"Oh, I couldn't impose, Tendo-san, I'm only here to see about helping  
Akane-san to train in the Art."  
  
"In that case I insist you have dinner with us," Kasumi said firmly, "I  
couldn't have you training with Akane without something to eat  
afterwards. I know how martial artists are."  
  
"Well, if you insist... I accept, and with thanks," Ranma bowed again  
and waved grandly to Akane, "So let's see your Dojo proper, hmm?"   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Akane happily led the way to the Dojo, pausing only to change into her  
gi, not noticing Ranma's raised eyebrow. "Here we are!"  
  
Ranma bowed to the spirit of the Dojo and leaned against the wall.  
"Alright, start out with your kata; I'll just watch, for now."   
  
Akane centered herself, took a cleansing breath, and began. For five  
minutes, and then ten, she performed her kata to the best of her  
ability, not noticing, as she continued, Ranma's increasingly serious  
and concerned expression.   
  
Finishing with the hardest and most complex kata she knew, she returned  
to the outside world and noticed Ranma's distracted expression. Quickly  
becoming depressed, she sank into seiza and looked down at her hands,  
"Not good enough, huh?", she said quietly.  
  
Returning to herself with a start, Ranma considered momentarily, then  
replied. "No, the problem is that you're _too_ good."   
  
She looked down at her hands and briefly chewed her lip, "I mean to  
say, yeah, there's some things you could improve in, like speed, and  
maybe you're a little clumsy yet, but... the thing is, most of the  
stuff I know, that you don't is serious power stuff, and that's not  
what you need right now."  
  
"What do you mean, Ranma-san?", Akane frowned.  
  
Ranma looked down, briefly, then raised her head and captured Akane's  
gaze with her own, blue eyes serious and intense under flaming hair.  
"Look, Akane, there are two types of martial artists, okay? There's  
warriors, like me, and there's people with sticks like that Kuno lad I  
thwacked earlier today.   
  
"And the difference, the _important_ difference between them is:  
warriors are in the business of killing people, and people with sticks  
are not. The Art of a guy with a stick ... well, it might be about art,  
or philosophy, or it might be a sport, or an exercise, or basically it  
might be a lot of stuff, but _my_ Art, a warrior's Art, is about  
killing people, or, sometimes, _not_ killing people."  
  
"Ranma, I _know_ what...," Akane began.  
  
"NO", Ranma held up a firm hand. "You haven't thought it through! Take  
a day, take a month, Hell, take the rest of your life if that's what  
you need; once you start down that road you can't go back. You don't  
want to go unless you have to."  
  
Ranma stepped forward and put her hand on Akane's shoulder. "I'm  
serious about this Akane-chan, take the time to _be sure_. I wasn't, I  
didn't have a clue when I started, cause my Dad's an idiot, and it  
_hurt_. It _always_ hurts, Akane-chan, or else, if it doesn't, it means  
_you're_ dead too", she moved her other hand to Akane's other shoulder,  
"and I don't want my friend to be hurt like that unless there's no  
other, better, choice."  
  
Akane collapsed into Ranma's embrace and sobbed. "Y ... y ... d-do you  
think I should just ... not ... then?", she mumbled into the other  
girl's shoulder.  
  
Ranma stroked the back of her neck and *shhhed*, "No, Akane, I don't  
know what your honor needs. I _do_ know that when you _have_ the power  
you _have_ to worry about it, not using power is a use, too."   
  
Back to arms length, "Take this morning, that Takuichi kid, he's in the  
hospital now; and you can say he deserved it, and you can say it could  
have been worse, and you can say he was stupid. But when it's totaled  
up, what it comes down to is that I maimed him, maybe permanently, and  
I didn't have to."  
  
"Mind you", she continued, "six months ago I'd have killed them all and  
laughed, but that was in a different place, under different rules.  
_Here_, reacting that ... extremely ... was wrong."  
  
"Do you think he _will_ be maimed?", Akane said, worriedly.   
  
"I don't know Akane-chan, Japanese medicine is lots better than I'm  
used to, and I've got some tricks of my own to use if it gets bad, but  
... I don't know. And it was a mistake, and you know that at some point  
I'm going to have to pay for it too. It's a weight, Akane-chan, that  
you can't ever put down. Don't pick it up unless you've got no choice."  
  
"Okay, Ranma-chan, I ... I'll think about it first," Akane smiled,  
weakly.  
  
"Thank you." Ranma hugged her briefly, hard, and then let go. "And it's  
not all _that_ bad anyway, even if you decide to stay sane. There's a  
lot we can do to help your Art on general principles, and just  
polishing you up should make a lot of difference. 'Kay?"   
  
"Uh-huh," Akane sniffed, she smiled kawaiily, "Thanks. What should we  
do first?"  
  
Ranma shrugged, "Change your wardrobe."  
  
"Huh!?"  
  
"You're wearing a gi."  
  
"Yeah ... so?"  
  
"Earlier today, did you feel comfortable fighting in your school  
uniform?"  
  
"No-ooo, I mean I had to, er, _if_ I'd had to I could, but..."   
  
"Exactly! When it's your art, it's got to be a part of your whole life.  
When Basho was wandering around, d'you think he only did poetry under  
special circumstances? Only when he had an audience, and a mat, and a  
formal ink stone, and a three foot brush, and a dozen perfect sheets,  
and so on? When Hokusai made his prints, do you think he was only doing  
art on the formal, final print, and not the rest of the time?  
  
"Hell, no," Ranma continued, "Hokusai was doing art even when he was  
partying, (and believe me, Hokusai knew how to party, too). Basho did  
poetry all the time; even if they weren't doing the formal,  
get-it-down-right part, they were sketching, or taking notes, or just  
taking what was going on around them and putting it into context in  
their terms.   
  
"They were doing their art all the time. And any art that's _real_ has  
to be like that. All the time. And you won't do your art all the time  
if you're not in a situation that you're comfortable doing your art  
_in_ all the time. Which, for Martial Arts, includes the clothes you're  
wearing. So let's go see your closet."  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Somewhat dazedly, Akane led the way to her room, where Ranma was soon  
standing in front of her closet, sorting through her clothes, and  
muttering.   
  
"Uniform ... uniform ... bleah ... dress ... dress ..." Ranma posed  
briefly with a sun dress, "mmm, looks good, but _I_ wouldn't want to  
try to high kick in it..."  
  
Akane mega-blushed. "Me neither."  
  
"Mmm ..., well, I don't see anything in here really suitable for  
combat, do you?"  
  
Akane shook her head, shyly, no.  
  
"Well, there's only one thing to do then," said Ranma, "go shopping!"  
  
Akane grabbed her arm urgently, "Ranma, I won't have the money for a  
shopping trip for..."  
  
Ranma patted Akane's hand gently. "Don't worry about it Akane-chan, for  
a good cause, you can always find _some_ kind of donor."   
  
Akane blushed again, "Ranma-chan, I can't ask you to buy me..."   
  
Ranma winked at her, "Who said anything about me? Come on!"   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma and Akane walked side by side deep into the Nerima Ginza. Deeply  
engrossed in conversation with Ranma, Akane failed to notice her  
steering their perambulations towards the less savory part of town.  
  
She regained notice of her surroundings with the realization that  
several Bad Elements were attempting to loom menacingly in the  
background. Ranma winked at her sudden start, and put a finger  
shushingly to her lips. "Donors," she whispered, and continued to  
chatter.   
  
"Heyhey, chickies, whatchoo doin out tonite, hah? Yew wanna _real_ man,  
hah? Haw, haw, looka this Junichi, a _redhead_, think I'll see if she's  
a _natural_ redhead, haw!"  
  
"Take the trailers," Ranma stage whispered. Her mouth smiled at the  
forerunners of the ten thugs surrounding them, but her eyes were cold.  
"Now, gentlemen, you wouldn't risk your reputations by harassing a pair  
of unescorted girls, would you?"  
  
"Hawhaw, and what's gonna stop us chickie, huh?" the first thug  
extended a tattooed hand.  
  
"Well, for one thing," Ranma's tone was conversational, "the element of  
surprise."  
  
Her foot snapped up in a repeated high kick that landed fifteen blows  
to the thug's chin in a fifth of a second, then pivoted around the  
raised foot in a ki charged arc that smashed the two forward flankers  
into their respective walls. (Akane spun and launched a straight power  
kick into the gut of the thug directly behind her. As he folded, her  
hand rose and fell in a well-timed strike to the back of his neck.)   
  
Ranma shifted position in midair, flashing to her left in a jump kick  
into a fourth thug that carried him into the fifth, her hand blurred  
briefly as they landed to the blurry *thud* of many blows to exposed  
heads and torsos, then launched herself backward. (Akane continued her  
motion to the side, launching herself at the thug there and blasting  
through his defenses with a flurry of punches that soon sent him into  
unconsciousness.)   
  
Ranma flipped through the air towards the remaining two thugs on her  
side, altering course at the last instant to pass between them, her  
hands blurring as she passed. She landed lightly on her feet, preparing  
to move towards Akane as her last opponents slumped heavily to the  
ground. Akane however, had already bounced off the wall in a long jump  
kick that took her fleeing final foe in mid back, smashing him limply  
into the other wall of the alley.  
  
"Well," Ranma beamed, "not bad at all."  
  
"What the heck did you get us into that for?" Akane all but shrieked,  
"What were you think... What are you _DOING_?"  
  
"Mmm? Looting the bodies, Akane-chan, what does it look like?"   
  
"You _killed_ them!!??!"  
  
"No, no, no. If I'd _killed_ them, I'd have said I was looting the  
_corpses_."  
  
"But ... but ..." Akane could only watch in stupefaction as Ranma, in  
less than a minute, stripped the mindless bodies down to their  
underwear, stacked their jackets, shoes, shirts, pants, and  
paraphernalia in the middle of the alley, and rifled their wallets,  
throwing their cards and photos to the ground and counting their cash.  
  
"Nearly half a million cash!" Ranma gloated, "and better than 250  
thousand in loot too! As I said, not bad at all!"  
  
"Ranma, what...?" Akane stood openmouthed in shock, "How can you  
just...?"  
  
"Well, after all, Akane-chan, they did try to accost us. If we don't  
apply _some_ kind of penalty, they'll surely slip further and further  
into Crime and Degradation, ne? And we do deserve some sort of  
compensation for our efforts, right? Besides: to the victor go the  
spoils."   
  
"Now, here, take this pile of pants and shirts and come on, we've got  
to go fence this stuff, and then go shopping."  
  
"Shopping?" Akane queried weakly.  
  
"We need to get you a new wardrobe, remember?"  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Later, Ranma turned from Akane's closet and pronounced herself  
satisfied. "Hah! Hah! Still got that haggling touch! Hah!"  
  
Akane turned from the mirror, and tried to see how her long hair looked  
against the back of her new leather vest. "Do you _really_ think this  
looks good, Ranma-chan?"  
  
Ranma looked at Akane's black velvet pants / white silk shirt / black  
leather vest combo and raised an OK sign. "Trust me, Akane-chan, you  
look great. And there's nearly thirty thousand yen left for other stuff  
you might need too!"  
  
"Are you _sure_ you won't take any of this money, Ranma-chan? You did  
do most of the work."  
  
"Nah!" Ranma waved her hand, "don't need it at the moment. Besides,  
we're friends right? One day you'll do something like that for me. Now  
let's get going, your sister just called us to dinner!"  
  
Returning to the dining room, Nabiki frankly stared at Akane's new  
look. Introductions to Nabiki and Soun were made, and one of Kasumi's  
typically excellent meals was consumed.  
  
Mealtime conversation was mostly superficial, enlivened only by Ranma's  
presentation of a guesting gift (Wrapped bottles of Sake and a box of  
exotic spices for Kasumi) at the beginning of the meal.   
  
Nabiki had been looking at Ranma with what seemed to be a certain  
amount of unease throughout the meal, and after Soun excused himself  
she appeared to come to a decision.  
  
"Um, Ranma-san, I just wanted to thank you for the opportunity you  
provided me this morning. And, um,  
Ithinkyoushouldtaketenpercentofthemoneyinthanks," Nabiki blushed as  
though she could not believe what she had just said.  
  
Ranma winked at her "Ten percent, Nabiki-san? That's what? fifty  
thousand? There's no need for that; I'm not hurting for cash."   
  
"But I can't just ... _hey_ how'd _you_ know how much it should be? I  
haven't said how much I made yet!"  
  
"You've segregated it in your money belt, Nabiki-san," Ranma replied,  
"I checked it earlier."  
  
"You picked my pocket!?", Nabiki gasped.  
  
"Well, only for informational purposes, Nabiki-san. I put everything  
back, did I not?"  
  
Nabiki stood it for eleven seconds before frantically checking her  
belt.   
  
"Nabiki!" Akane glowered.  
  
Ranma chuckled, and rose from the table, "It's time I went home, I  
think; I'll see you tomorrow before school, Akane? And don't worry  
about it Nabiki-san: I'd have checked too."  
  
Akane nodded brightly, but Nabiki hmmphed, "You be careful, Ranma-san,  
I'll get you back for that."  
  
"I'll be looking forward to the contest," Ranma smiled, "I'm sure it  
will be interesting."  
  
"Do you have to go so soon?" Akane wondered.  
  
"I'm afraid so. If you look at the time, it's actually quite late. You  
have school in the morning, after all: you need your rest."   
  
So saying, Ranma turned out the door of the Dojo, and, whistling,  
walked down the street to her apartment, under the moon and the stars.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Walking down the street alone, Ranma thought to herself, 'Wow,  
friendship, I wonder if...'  
  
'NO!' herself replied, 'she's straight, she's a girl, and she thinks  
_you're_ a girl. This is the best friendship you've had since Kitsune  
or Usagi, _don't mess it up_! Besides, you've got some kind of  
arrangement coming from Dad, right? No More Romance, and that's  
_final_."  
  
So thinking, Ranma walked on down the darkened street. It is the  
privilege of a Martial Artist to ignore the little voice inside that  
says 'Sure' after all. Presently she began, somewhat unconsciously, to  
sing. A song she had learned from a Gaijin ship crewman and translated  
to Japanese:  
  
You say 'Well met again, Lock keeper.   
You see me laden even deeper than the time before.  
Occidental oils and teas brought down from Singapore.'  
As we wait for my lock to cycle, I say,  
'My wife has just given me a son!'  
'A son', you cry, 'is that all that you've done?'  
  
'Then come with me!', you say,  
'To where the Southern Cross rides high   
upon your shoulder.   
'Oh, come with me', you cry,  
'Each day you tend this lock you're one day older,   
and your blood   
grows   
colder.'  
But that anchor chain's a fetter  
And with it you are tethered to the foam,  
And I wouldn't trade your life  
For one hour of home.  
  
She wears Bougainvillea blossoms,   
You pluck 'em from her hair and toss them in the tide,  
Sweep her in your arms, and carry her inside.  
And her arms rest on your shoulder,  
And her moonlit eyes grow bold and wiser   
through the tears,  
And I say, 'How could you stand to leave   
this for the years?'   
  
But 'Come with me!', you say,  
'To where the Southern Cross rides high   
upon your shoulder.   
'Oh, come with me', you cry,  
'Each day you tend this lock you're one day older,   
and your blood  
grows  
colder.'  
But that anchor chain's a fetter  
And with it you are tethered to the foam,  
And I wouldn't trade your life  
For one hour of home.  
  
Sure, I'm stuck here on the Seaway,  
While you compensate for leeway through the Trades;  
And you shoot the stars to see the miles you've made;  
And you laugh at hearts you've riven,  
But which of these has given us more love and life?  
You, your tropic maids, or me, my wife?  
  
And 'Come with me!', you say,  
'To where the Southern Cross rides high   
upon your shoulder.   
'Oh, come with me', you cry,  
'Each day you tend this lock you're one day older,   
and your blood  
grows  
colder.'  
But that anchor chain's a fetter  
And with it you are tethered to the foam,  
And I wouldn't trade your whole life  
For one hour of home.  
  
And I wouldn't trade your whole life  
For one hour of home.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Later yet, Akane stood in her bedroom, looking out the window at  
nothing in particular. She was thinking about a Decision, thinking  
about honor, and duty, and leather vests. Seeing, in her mind, a  
kendoist flying backwards to a wall, and a katana, snapped in two,  
hanging momentarily in mid-air. Weighing her honor against pain, and  
tumbled thugs, and a crown of roses.  
  
And then she smiled, and returned to her bed, and fell deeply asleep. A  
response which is noted as common, in cases where a great Decision has  
been made.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
And across Nerima, silence fell, and quiet reigned. And if, in some  
darkened corner, people felt themselves abused, and whispered, and  
plotted revenge, Ranma and Akane, at least, took no notice. And slept  
the sleep of the just, till morning came.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Next:   
Chapter 2: The Second Day.  
Part A: Duel of Engines; A Dream of Blood and Wolves.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Author's Notes: Or, Just what the Fsck is going on here anyway?   
  
At the beginning of September, 1998, our two family dogs, aged 13 and  
11, died within 10 days of each other. The second, largely, of grief.  
We buried them in the back yard, late at night, when it was cool. And  
now you know where the inspiration for the prologue scene came from.  
  
This is a fic whose ending, 6 fic months away, I have known for more  
than 8 real world months. If it seems polished, it's because I've worn  
most of the rough edges away in my head, before ever setting fingers to  
keyboard.  
  
This is also a fic which was produced because of a deep and terrible  
annoyance at Alternafics of the form "This changes, nothing else  
changes, and we will now retell the origin story with everything the  
same, except for what's different."  
  
Finally, this is a fic written by the unabashed romantic in me. You  
have been warned.  
  
Questions:   
1.) What's the deal with Ranma, huh, why's he so good?  
  
He's been training with competent people, even harder than in canon,  
for more than, on his time line, 10 years. He's good!  
  
2.) But a little bloodthirsty, huh?  
  
He thinks he's gotten the Neko-ken under control, but he hasn't  
entirely, also there are some philosophical issues which may show up  
later.  
  
3.) Okay, the Neko-ken, what's up with that?  
  
This alternate diverges at the Neko-ken training, which Genma, for  
reasons unknown, conducts a year later than in canon. Everything up to  
that point is the same, after is very different.  
  
4.) Yeah, and...?  
  
The training, instead of the canon insanity, made him more than  
slightly psychopathic. Unfortunately^HFortunately Genma avoided a  
well-deserved culling^Htragedy, but only because Ranma beat him up, and  
then left.  
  
Genma made Ranma promise to return to challenge for mastery of the  
Saotome Ryu in 6 years (6 months are left at the start of chapter 1)  
and specified that this would take place at this wonderful training  
ground he'd heard of. Ranma spent the first 6 months in a temple on  
Honshu, getting the Neko-ken under control. Then he traveled to  
Jhusenkyou to spy out the lay of the land. So he's had the curse for 5  
(real-world) years now and has gone through puberty in both forms (due  
to his means of transport, he has actually experienced around ten years  
in that time). He thinks of himself as male, but of variable gender. If  
that seems confusing, it's because you can't change like that yourself.  
  
5.) Okay, so about the sword?  
  
Without Genma's interference, and with the longer time-span, Ranma has  
traveled much farther and trained in many more skills, weapons and  
special moves than in canon. (Remember that, in the Manga, Ranma  
learned _all_ his 'super-normal' tricks in less than two years. RAALS  
starts a real-world year after the Manga does, and gives Ranma _five_  
years of training on his time-line beyond that ....)   
  
6.) A list of special moves?  
  
Largely irrelevant, assume he can do most anything one way or another.  
  
His raw power level, at the start of the series, is somewhat above his  
maximum power level at the end of the Manga, i.e. he can blow up  
smallish mountains. His breadth of knowledge would probably stun  
Cologne.   
  
On the gripping hand, it's all just special effects anyway, y'know? Sit  
back, relax, enjoy the show. It'll knock your socks off; or, at least,  
pull at 'em real hard.  
  
7.) Irrelevant? Huh? Whaddaya mean, 'special effects'?  
  
Sigh. This is going to get _heavily_ into theory, which I have  
forgotten the technical terms for. If not interested, skip down now.  
  
It is important to remember that a story is not an RPG scenario, and  
vice-versa. Ranma does not have a Strength Score, nor is he blessed  
with dots in Celerity. He's just strong and fast.  
  
_How_ strong and _how_ fast depends on how strong and fast the author  
writes him to be. That is, he's strong enough to do _some_ things and  
fast enough to do _some_ things, but not strong or fast enough to do  
others. Which? Doesn't really matter. Whichever the author wants.  
  
See, the essence of a story, _any_ story, is in the _characters_.  
Specifically, in the _decisions_ that the characters make. The choices  
they take, the ones they _don't_, the reasons _why_, and the results  
that the characters get.  
  
Wile E. Coyote is a villain, and a comic villain at that. His decisions  
are _always_ wrong. The Roadrunner is a comic hero, and his decisions  
are _always_ right. It doesn't really matter how or why they get that  
way, they just are. And that's just fine, for comedy.  
  
For drama, you have to engender tension in the reader. That is, either  
you must make the reader unsure that the character will make the right  
decision, or you must make the reader unsure of just what the right  
decision _is_.  
  
Heraklese is the mightiest of mortals, but even his great strength is  
no match for the instant regeneration of the Hydra. Will Heraklese see  
the solution, or will the Hydra eat him? Lancelot du Lac is the  
mightiest and most chivalrous knight on life, but will his honor stand  
the test of his forbidden love for Guenhavere? (Lancelot, by the way,  
comes out of Mallory as a Failed Hero. That is, he makes the _wrong_  
decision, thus leading to catastrophe.)  
  
Ranma Nibunnoichi is, in common with most Anime-Manga, a story of  
internal conflict. Ranma has many solutions to his problems, but is  
caught between many conflicting imperatives that prevent him from using  
any of them. These conflicts between imperatives are the engine that  
drives the drama of the series (and not Ranma's conflicts alone, of  
course).  
  
Observe, for example, in the story arc that introduces us to the Kachuu  
Tenshin Amaguriken, that the primary source of conflict is internal to  
Ranma himself.   
  
Ranma's motivation for seeking the Phoenix Pill is entirely internal to  
himself. Cologne (his 'opponent' in the arc) informs him of the  
technique and teaches him how to train for it.   
  
No-one important is pushing him from behind, no-one is in any danger if  
he fails to stick his (her?) burned hands in the piranha tank, Nodoka  
hasn't even made a token appearance yet, and, in the end, the Chestnut  
Fist isn't even the means by which Cologne relents. For all we are  
actually _told_ in the Manga, _any_ sufficient display of 'fighting  
spirit' would have done as well. Ranma doesn't even (specifically)  
_use_ the technique very often thereafter.  
  
The point is not the technique. The point is the internal strength  
which Ranma displays during the training, and that it proves Ranma's  
heroic position. This also explains, incidentally, why Ryouga's Bakusai  
Tenketsu training sequence is given less play: Ryouga serves the story  
purpose of _failure_ to complement Ranma's success, so Takahashi don't  
need to spend nearly as much time proving an essential heroism that she  
already knows he will fall short of.  
  
This last point also serves to illustrate another factor, which is that  
the actions a character takes also depend, to an extent, upon their  
place in the story and on what is happening (story-wise) at hat point  
in time. Ranma, when Akane's life is on the line, can pull enormous  
power-ups out of his butt, yet still be beaten like a drum by Ryouga or  
Taro when less-critical matters are at stake. Ryouga or Taro, by  
contrast, could not even dream of matching blows with Saffron,  
regardless of the stakes. Ranma is the hero, Ryouga and Taro are not.  
  
The author, of course, gets to decide who the heros are, which is a  
part of the fun of fan-ficing to begin with. Many fan-fics have changed  
character roles, which is fine.  
  
In RAALS specifically, the reason the Ranma's special effects are not  
important is simple: as of the beginning of the fic, Ranma is not the  
hero. Ranma serves the initial role of mentor, Roy Fokker to Our Hero's  
Max and Rick. (No, she is not going to take shrapnel, ignore it and  
bleed to death in the middle of the fic. Please.) So, like Cologne in  
the Manga, she is as powerful as she needs to be.  
  
Eventually, of course, Ranma will regain her hero's stature. But then,  
eventually, a lot of things will happen. In the mean time, sit back,  
relax, and enjoy the show. And don't sweat the small stuff. I'm keeping  
track, and I do know what I'm doing. I promise.  
  
8.) Usagi? Kitsune?  
  
From Stan Sakai's _Usagi Yojimbo_, which incidentally, you should  
immediately run out and buy all twelve books of. Right now. Go on. I'll  
wait. ... Oh. *Sigh*.  
  
9.) Isn't that going a little far afield?  
  
No. The glass part of the amulet Ranma holds up in the Prologue is a  
cracked mirror, if that helps. Crossovers can be expected to be  
present, in great numbers and to weird effect. And I'm not gonna  
apologize for 'em, either. Nyah.  
  
10.) The kata Ranma's doing in his apartment? Bargain, Prize, Price?   
  
Ask Granny Weatherwax. Or Jason Ogg, for that matter.  
  
11.) Further questions?  
  
Direct them to hallcon@mindspring.com, I'll try to answer as fast as  
possible. (Which may not be as fast as either of us would like,  
but....)  
  
12.) One last thing.  
  
Yes ....  
  
12.a.) Why butterflies?  
  
Well, I _like_ butterflies, you see.  
  
'Til next chapter,  
  
Eric Hallstrom, 01/16/2001 


	2. The Second Day

Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only swinging on  
the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found  
them and please don't feed the Trolls.  
  
"The Nancy" is copyright by Stan Rogers (RIP), I'm only borrowing it.  
Likewise "After All" is Garnet Roger's. "Maids, When You're Young" is  
an Actual Folk Song, and is _Not_, I repeat, _Not_ My Fault.  
  
This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/  
  
Release 1.2 (Dec. 04, 2000)  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma & Akane: A Love Story.   
Chapter 2: The Second Day  
Part A: Duel of Engines; A dream of blood and wolves.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
This is Tokyo, Nerima ward in the darkest early morning, the time when  
old men die.   
  
Focus in: to a large maison in the newer, outer part of the ward; where  
the transients go, and where those who can't afford a _real_ Nerima  
address find space to live. It's been here for 40 years. It's been  
dying, slowly, for 35.  
  
Focus in: to the eighth floor, on the corner, in the back. There's no  
elevator to this floor, (the shaft is boarded shut, there's no money in  
elevators) only rickety stairs. There's no hallway light, but then no  
one here should be going in or out when it's dark, anyway (there's no  
_stairway_ light either).  
  
Focus in. The apartment has one main room, one bathroom with a small  
shower but no furo, one room that combines kitchen and breakfast nook,  
and one closet. Most of it was furnished by the building owner in a  
style that can be described as 'severely minimal' and the current  
occupant hasn't added much.  
  
Take a look at the main room. Perhaps twelve feet on a side, floored in  
a dingy parquet linoleum, it holds two pieces of furniture. Against one  
wall, underneath the only window, sits a footlocker. The door in the  
wall to the left leads to the kitchen, the door to the right, to the  
bathroom. In the corner formed by the back wall and the left is the  
other piece of furniture, a futon.  
  
Look a bit longer. To two pieces of furniture, add three other items of  
interest.   
  
The first, placed just in front of the leather bound chest, is a sword  
stand. On its upper tier, edge upward, as is proper, rests a sword.   
  
A blade about three feet long, of the ancient pattern called /tachi/,  
chisel pointed, strait backed, uncurved. Its hilt is of wood, covered  
with ray-skin and wound with silken cords; its tsuba is of plain,  
unmarked brass. Its scabbard, resting beneath it on the stand, is of  
plain, black-lacquered, common pine.   
  
A more commonplace, workaday weapon would be difficult to imagine. No  
flamboyant artwork on _this_ blade, no feeling of legendary glory  
waiting to be won. The only feeling an observer receives from this  
blade is: 'Gee, that looks really sharp'.  
  
Look behind it. On the chest, precisely in the center of its top, and  
precisely in the center of the moonlight streaming through the window,  
is a small bowl made of silver. In it floats a pool of softly  
luminescent liquid, reminiscent of quicksilver, but more fluid.   
  
Look deeper. See the small assemblage suspended slightly above the  
surface of the liquid: two pieces of carven ivory flanking a ring of  
palest jade. See how the ivory pieces, if fitted together, would also  
form a ring, fitted tightly around the jade core. See the sandalwood  
cover waiting patiently to the side of the chest lid; if it was placed  
over the bowl it would fit perfectly around its rim, and cover the  
whole without disturbing it in any way.   
  
Wait!   
  
Look.   
  
Did you see?   
  
Did you see the bead of soft light that fell from just above the bowl?  
Look above the rings above the bowl, about six inches, do you see? A  
pale circle of light hangs almost invisibly in midair, a slight  
thickening of the flowing moonlight.   
  
Now watch the two small beads of light at the top of the circle; see  
them travel slowly around its circumference to the bottom. See them  
gain in brightness, so slowly, ever so slowly, as they flow. See them  
gleam as they pass, one by one, the geometric lines that cross and re-  
cross the design.   
  
Watch their color change, ever so faintly, as they pass each of the  
tracings of ancient Chinese ideograms that form an inner ring of pale,  
translucent, radiance. Watch them meet at the very bottom of the  
circle, meet and join.   
  
Watch the newly formed bead of luminescent liquid hang breathlessly a  
moment, then fall *blip* the six inches to the rings above the bowl.  
Watch it seem to pass through the jade ring, then watch the jade, and  
then the ivory, glow.   
  
Ever so faintly, ever so briefly.   
  
Watch the cycle begin again.  
  
Now turn to the futon. See the masculine figure sprawled in sleep. So  
inelegant for one who, awake, is so graceful.  
  
Look closer again. See the scars on face and arms. Trace the blow that  
must have fallen to lay that path across larynx and shoulder.   
  
Contemplate the tracery of past violence across his bare chest and the  
portions of his legs that lie beyond his boxer shorts. Scars like wide,  
raised, ridges six inches long; scars like nearly invisible threads,  
white against the tanned skin; scars of all dimensions in between.   
  
Marvel, lastly, at the tattoo. A dragon, marked with the symbols of  
yang power. Sprawled across chest and stomach, winding around his left  
shoulder and across his back to flirt with his right scapula with its  
tail. Every scale and claw perfect, detailed in line, marvelous in  
color, drawn by a master's hand. So perfect that the simple act of the  
man's normal breathing seems to make it live and breathe alike.   
  
Observe.   
  
See its fierce whiskers, its masculine lines. See the eye closed in  
sleep, the coiled body peaceful and still. It is fortunate, no doubt,  
that it sleeps so peacefully - were it to awaken, its wrath would  
surely be terrible.   
  
No doubt.   
  
No doubt at all.  
  
Fortunate, then, that the sleep of its bearer is likewise deep, and  
peaceful. Fortunate that he is locked, deeply and thoroughly, in  
dreams.   
  
Fortunate for the dreamer, and also, perhaps, for the observer.   
  
Look deeper, you can see into the dream itself. But be cautious, as you  
do: it is all too easy to become lost in dreams, all too easy to give  
them too much credence.   
  
In the end, remember this: however exact the remembrance, however  
complete the illusion seems, you, yourselves, are also but dreaming.   
  
Indulging in a metaphor, so to speak, for a somewhat more ... complex  
... reality.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Impressions of gentle sunlight first, midmorning in the middle of  
spring: perhaps late April, or early May.   
  
Look around to see an open field, uncultivated; spring grass as tall as  
your horse's knees, spotted with wildflowers, strewn with butterflies.  
A hundred yard away to left and right the forest rises, dark with many  
pines, but drifted gold with their pollen.   
  
See the horse beneath you: coat black as night, mane and tail twin  
charcoal sprays.   
  
Hear the birdsong like a many-voiced silver cataract, staccato tattoo  
of several horses cantering, gentle rustle of the wind.   
  
Usagi rides his roan ten yards to your left, his straw hat thrown back  
off his head, his ears streaming back in the breeze of your passage.   
  
Noriyuki-sama sits his bay five yards behind and between you, his  
plump, cheerful, panda face popping up above the head of his warhorse  
with the enthusiasm of the twelve-year-old boy he is.   
  
Tomoe-san rides her dappled gelding five yards behind her lord, her  
cat-ears pricked forward, face earnest and alert. Always devoted to her  
lord's safety, no matter her delight in the sunlit day, no matter her  
discomfort in the storming, bitter night. Odd how her cat's face causes  
no fear in your dream, odd how a cat grown man-tall and stood upright  
is, somehow, not the kind of cat your subconscious so reviles.   
  
Poetry from Usagi, chuckles from Tomoe and yourself, delighted laughter  
from Noriyuki-sama, each close enough to speak, close enough to laugh,  
but far enough away that danger cannot take two at once.   
  
Next the fresh dew-smell, overlying the faint bruised grass, delicate  
scent of wildflowers, honest smell of horse, and leather, sharp tang of  
steel and lacquer from the light breastplate hidden beneath your outer  
shirt. Smells of spring, overlaid by smells of travel, sadly intermixed  
with smells of danger, and of threatening war.  
  
Last the sun's gentle warmth, slanting from above. Caressing breeze  
across your face, gentler than the wind of your passage. Rythmic  
pounding of hooves, the saddle's steady rise and fall. Thump of braid  
to your back, followed by the click as the ring at its end slaps home.  
Creak of saddle-leather, slap of stirrups, *tick* and *clink* of  
breastplate, thump of sword.   
  
Just beside your track a wolf cub starts a mouse, pounces, grips his  
prey and kills. Pounding hooves disturb his meal, his jaws drip blood,  
his eyes glow green, but his pounce is intercepted by your sandal, he  
sprawls before your progress. As the hoof comes down, a viper takes his  
place. Too late: crunch under hoof, writhing rope behind. Tomoe's  
naginata snaps downward, rises coiled by serpent, snaps to throw the  
corpse away.   
  
Suddenly pounding down a steep slope towards a lonely road. Dark pines  
grow close on either side, black clouds, bitter wind, sharp and biting  
scent of storm. Before you a party of horsemen turns toward you from  
their place along the road. The war mask of the leader makes their  
identity unmistakable - Hijiki, and a dozen of his guard.   
  
Closed view from helm, O-yori heavy on your limbs. No daikyu, so a  
charge will have to do - Yari straight before you, parallel with  
Usagi's charge, behind you, Tomoe's naginata spins in a blurring circle  
as she gallops past Noriyuki to shield him from his enemies.   
  
First contact, and your enemy's throat sprays blood, a brief side-rein  
as you break your foe's wall, rip open the side of another. Iron tang  
of blood, sewer reek of sudden death, background flash of lightning as  
the storm grows, and threatens now in earnest.   
  
Tomoe's naginata takes the heads of the two guards in her path; Usagi  
has collapsed the other corner of their formation, and converges on  
Hijiki, two bodies left sprawling behind him in pools of sudden  
scarlet. Rein left and launch your yari at Hijiki, he dodges but the  
guard behind him does not.   
  
Tenchuu flashes from its scabbard in an arc that takes it through two  
enemies' necks - stronger tang of iron now, sticky crimson mist sprays  
face and helm, blood-drops *tac* *tac* *tac* off armor as you spin and  
drive towards the center of the now encarmined battleground.   
  
Usagi has downed his foe, throwing him into another: thunder of hooves  
as he follows up the advantage, crimson rivers as he passes the still  
struggling tangle. Tomoe overmasters her last opponent, beating down  
his guard; scarlet clots the blade of her naginata as it punches, once,  
twice, thrice through his backplate. Three warriors form an arc,  
centered where Hijiki waits: unbowed, but now alone.   
  
Move to meet him, Tenchuu held low beside you. Then the wolf springs,  
leaping from the trees. It is larger now, and crueler: already its jaws  
drip poison spittle and its eyes blaze hatred and rage. Tenchuu chops  
it from the air and it tumbles broken to the ground, but it rises to  
its feet, healed anew in an instant, and now it is to your off side.   
  
Armored in steel, your foot kicks free of its stirrup and meets it in  
midair. Flailing, it flips over your head, Tenchuu blurs through its  
diseased form a score of times at least. Scattered in many places, no  
healing will save it this time.  
  
Yet the delay is costly: Hijiki cuts through your defense, a stream of  
fire across your throat and shoulder, falling from your mount to roll  
frantically across the ground. Tomoe is down on one knee, injured,  
defending Lord Noriyuki from half-a-dozen foes. Usagi kills his  
opponent and you rise to your feet, Tenchuu hissing in the pattern  
called 'fire wheel', the three enemies about you falling back slain;  
horizontal fans of glistening crimson spray across the little inn's  
tables and tatami, coloring bowls of rice and clay mugs of beer now  
abandoned and overturned.   
  
You turn toward Hijiki, as Usagi turns to the window in alarm. A  
barrage of arrows thunks like hailstones into the thin, plaster wall,  
piercing it in places to a depth of three or four inches, embedding  
themselves in the beams and rafters. You turn away from the bodies  
piled in the center of the floor as you sniff the air in alarm: smoke!  
They're trying to burn you out!   
  
Quickly you string your daikyu, eight arrows in your fist: the most  
that you can put in the air at once. A burst of archery drives the  
encircling foes on one side of the inn into cover, cowering. Now, out  
the window, through their weakened line, run!  
  
Around the corner now, galloping over treacherous shale, flakes of  
rotten stone spraying back from your horses' hooves. Thunder of hooves,  
rolling back from a wall of living mountain to your right - an unpaved  
track too narrow for more than single file. Behind, a small army, but  
they are at least half-a-mile back and if you can get past the towering  
rock ahead they will never catch you.  
  
Rain-slick cobbles *rutch* beneath your flying, sandaled, feet, thunder  
crashes, loud as many dragons, ozone and sulfur, iron and hate. Around  
the outbuilding now, Tenchuu naked and rain-flecked in your hand. Straw  
rain cape flapping as you bring the wolf and Hijiki to bay before the  
tower looming black and monstrous in the storm. The wolf stands manlike  
and erect now - robed in black, carrying a spear.   
  
Your opponents are spread out too far for any gambit to succeed: dash  
between them, cutting at Hijiki as you pass, steel belling harshly  
against steel. Turn to face him and feint to his torso, waiting for the  
flow of ki from behind. Now, leap reversed over the wolf's head, thirty  
feet of backwards somersault. Feel the power flow through ground and  
storm, call it to your hand. Now! They are concentrated, pinned against  
the tower, their defenses momentarily down. Now hold the power within  
and weave a web of intent and iron control, now release the leash of  
will close-held and call the Dragon Wind.  
  
Storm erupts: sand caught by the wind and swept up as a thousand  
miniature knives, lightning riding the fist of wind like a corona of  
supernal fire. It washes over Hijiki and the wolf, overwhelms them, and  
blots them from view and debris sprays from the tower's base with the  
power of the storm.   
  
Rising from the wrack, the wolf's lifeless, skeletal jaws howl in  
futile rage in the moment they are given, before the fire consumes  
them, before the avalanche of stone from the falling tower buries them,  
before you turn and jump for distant safety, before the tons of  
gunpowder stored below Hijiki's fortress destroy themselves, and all  
around them, and the titanic explosion reaches out, gaining speed  
behind you...  
  
And the mass eruption of butterflies passes you by in a varicolored,  
softly scintillating cloud of fragrance and you ride up the last hill,  
amid a carpet of wildflowers. Usagi is beside you, Noriyuki-sama just  
behind, carrying the sword, and Tomoe-san brings up the rear. And you  
all laugh with joy, and awe, and delight as you top the rise to see  
before you the rice fields on the outskirts of the new capitol. This  
area is firmly under the Shogun's peace, patrols will escort you the  
rest of the way to his palace, the presentation will be performed  
without delay, and there remain before you no obstacles.   
  
No obstacles at all.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Bushiko Ranma, whose name had once been otherwise, awoke suddenly, and  
turned over muzzily on his futon. Looking across the darkened room, to  
the pale circle of magic dripping light into a silver bowl, he shook  
his head and sighed. "Man, I haven't dreamed about _him_ in a _long_  
time," he yawned. "I've got to stop making myself those midnight  
haba¤ero-and-teriyaki beef snacks. That, and hope that wasn't an omen."   
  
And then he turned over, and went back to sleep. Warriors learn to  
prize the commodity because they know that morning will come soon  
enough. And there will always be something to do in that morning. And  
you'll always need your sleep.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma & Akane: A Love Story.   
Chapter 2: The Second Day  
Part B: Battering Pieces: Akane's Unusual Morning  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Observe a long established residential district in Nerima, just after  
dawn that day. Birds twitter and sing in melodic glee at the promises  
of a new day, matching the mood of anticipation present in one member  
of the household living at the old-fashioned building with the big sign  
out front (the big sign that said 'Tendo Dojo', of course).  
  
It should not be said that Akane was normally the type of girl to  
indulge in random destruction as a form of stress relief. She indulged,  
generally speaking, in _highly specific_ and _exactly targeted_  
destruction as a form of stress relief. Even considering this fact,  
however, the presence of a number of columns of cinder blocks, set at  
various intervals around the practice hall's floor, must be considered  
slightly unusual.   
  
What was even more unusual, from a theoretical observer's viewpoint,  
however, was that Akane was not immediately preparing to destroy them.  
Instead, she was practicing a complex and intricate kata - almost a  
shadow-dance - around, between, over and beside them. A kata that  
seemed to involve defeating an imaginary set of enemies while at the  
same time avoiding attack proximity of the cinder block piles (if the  
cinder blocks were inclined to be pugnacious, which they had presented  
no sign, so far, of being). Finally, drawing to a peak, the kata  
concluded with a flurry of activity that wove and spun through the  
piles of concrete, destroying each in turn.  
  
For a moment after the kata's conclusion, Akane remained poised in the  
attitude of her finishing blow, her eyes intent and focused on  
something far away. Then she relaxed and surveyed the destruction,  
somewhat in the manner of one who, having just endured more than a year  
of grinding discomfort and frustration, has just been released,  
metaphorically speaking, from bondage, while - and at the same time -  
finding a much-desired friend, a much-admired mentor, and much-needed  
help.   
  
Likewise in the manner of one who has, shortly thereafter, undergone an  
only-partially-favorable appraisal of her main life skill, an agonizing  
reassessment of her chosen career goals, and the strangest evening of  
her seventeen years of life. Not even to mention a total reassessment  
of her most basic morality, and a reexamination of her honor. Followed  
by a truly momentous decision: the first, depending on how you look at  
it, of her adult life.  
  
Which is, of course, exactly what she was. And which is also why, after  
having, in a manner of speaking, cleared the air, she nodded firmly,  
and dusted her hands and went in, whistling, to breakfast. It was a new  
day, after all, and she was eager, for the first time in a very long  
time, to begin it.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Tendo Nabiki, of that same address, was also eager for the day to  
begin. Not because she had undergone a great and sweeping change of  
life, but rather because she too had received something she had not had  
in a long time: a challenge.   
  
She had been scored on. _She_ had been bested. Her actions anticipated,  
her _pocket_ _picked_, of all the silly things. And yet, and yet ... it  
had been done with, with ... _style_. And grace. Not in such a way as  
to damage her reputation or smear her honor (indeed, she had - the  
household had - profited tremendously).   
  
And _then_ this same person, this same barbarian grotesque, had turned  
around and not only helped her little sister - helped her family -  
tremendously, but had also turned over a small fortune entirely for  
Akane's use! And for a new wardrobe, for the purpose of, of all things,  
'helping her Art'!   
  
How had it happened? She still had no details that she trusted. _Why_  
had she done it? And what would she do next? And how would she, Nabiki  
herself, end up relating to this Bushiko Ranma? For the first time in  
her life, she realized, the decision might not be in her hands.   
  
And what of Ranma, herself? What secrets did she hold? Who was she,  
really? And how had she gotten that way? Oh, my, yes, a challenge, in  
all senses of that word. A challenge she was eager to take on. A  
challenge she was eager to measure herself against, a challenge she was  
eager to grow with. For her, too, a stretching of her capabilities was  
a thing that had not happened in a very long time.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
  
And this is an apartment last seen by moonlight, now stretching  
drowsily in the pale illumination of a Tokyo dawn.   
  
The furnishings have changed slightly: the sword stand is empty now,  
the silver bowl is gone. In the place of the silver bowl, centered in  
the faint light of dawn now invading through the window, is a wide  
platen of burnished, red gold. Above it, on a stand of braided bronze  
wire, rests a pair of rings. Carved from dark, emerald jade, with the  
very faintest tracery of interlocking ideograms, they are made in  
mirror images, each of the other. Beside and between them, are a pair  
of interlocking shells of thinly braided copper wire, the inner halves  
linked by golden chains.   
  
Above, the diagram of light has been redrawn. Now shafts of pale dawn  
light seem to twist and intertwine, forming a disc about two feet wide.  
Within the pattern of the disc, intertwined with light and shadow in a  
fashion that would make M. C. Escher delirious with jealousy, stands a  
single ideogram in a Chinese temple shorthand so ancient that even the  
memory of the name of the style it is written in has been lost.   
  
Had he so desired, Ranma could have informed an interested scholar that  
the ideogram's meaning was critically interlinked with the style in  
which it was written, a style to which it had given its own name:  
Phoenix Dragon.  
  
In the corner of the main room behind the now opened bathroom door, in  
that portion of the room farthest from sunlight, now stands a small  
bamboo tray-table. On it is an iron stand, bearing a velvet curtain all  
around that can be closed to keep the contents from any betraying hint  
of sunlight.   
  
Within, shining with a light of its own, is a complex assembly of  
leaded glass and silver rod. Alembics bubble with a pale, luminescent  
liquid, from them, coils of glass transport glowing beads of pastel  
light up to roiling curcurbits, swirling with the colors of a mad,  
muted rainbow, from which straight tubes emerge to close on a central  
point, where they empty into a silver funnel. Drops of liquid, palely  
silver, roll down the funnel to drip onto the top of a peachwood rod,  
carven with writhing dragons going into and out of caves, down which a  
silver-lined spiral path leads the glowing liquid, reduced micron by  
micron, to a glass collecting bowl connected to the alembics in a  
continuous circular progression.  
  
Now from the open bathroom door comes a cloud of steam, followed by a  
topless, towel-wrapped figure, still engaged in toweling dry her  
scarlet braid. Striding firmly to the closet, Ranma drapes the towel  
over the multicolored, iridescent, feminine dragon tattoo that winds  
around her shoulders and torso: displayed passant regardant, dryly  
looking over its own sinuous shoulder to regard whatever might lie  
beyond.  
  
Then, dropping the towels from shoulders and hips, Ranma stands briefly  
nude (_Down_ Hentais! Down I say! You've seen as much many times before  
in the manga!) before donning boxers and a stretchy chest wrap that  
serves her as a sports bra.   
  
Then she places around her neck a small amulet of silver, one face of  
which is a cracked mirror and the other an ancient piece of pottery,  
marked with a pattern reminiscent of many ropes. Following this with  
her usual loose pants, silk shirt and moccasins, she tops these off  
with her leather bomber jacket, picking her scabbarded sword from where  
it rests against the wall and placing it, and a wide variety of other  
implements inside her jacket, in places that mostly do not seem capable  
of holding them.   
  
Lastly she bounds into the kitchen, a brief swipe across the counter  
grabs the bento and briefcase thereon. Bounds to the far corner,  
twitching the curtain closed. Glides to the chest, checking the  
alignment of the rings held above the brazen bowl.   
  
Watch now as a bead of light splits into two at the top of the diagram  
and runs fluidly around the circumference, left and right. Watch it  
merge at the bottom. Watch it fairly leap across space to pass through  
the rings and splash into the bowl. Watch the drop spread into a small  
pool, fizzling energetically. Watch it bathe the rings from below,  
evaporating as it does so. Watch the next drop splash before it  
vanishes completely. Watch the pool spread a little farther, last a  
little longer. See Ranma examine her handiwork and smile.  
  
Watch her look up, and through the diagram hanging in mid-air in the  
dawn's slowly gathering light. See her eyes go distant, as though lost  
in dreams, or fears, or memories. But dreams fade in daylight, and  
fears wither away. And memories don't always bring back that which is  
looked for.   
  
And Ranma turns, and glides out the door, locking it behind her. And  
bounds down the staircase and out the maison's front door. And, taking  
to the rooftops, moves quickly in a straight line towards her  
rendezvous. It's a new day, after all, and it wouldn't do to be late.  
It wouldn't do at all.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Yakubi Ryouken felt, in his heart of hearts, that everything in the  
world which was wrong with his life was the fault of his name (with  
some justification, it can be translated as "Bad-luck Day Hound"). In  
fact, he would not even answer to the hated words unless extremely  
pressed, preferring, somewhat ironically, the sobriquet of Daken ("Cur"  
or "Mongrel") instead.   
  
Complaining about his names was, in fact, normally one of the two  
overriding occupations of his life (the other being the worship of his  
Japanese-Nationalistic divine heredity, and the concomitant despite he  
felt for anything remotely foreign).   
  
Pressed against Furinkan's wall, just inside the gate, however, he was  
not currently capable of indulging in either one. This was primarily  
due to the presence of another occupation; he was hating the redheaded  
bitch.   
  
He had woken up, naked amidst the ruins of his gang, very late the  
previous night. He had spent the hours since seeking out the identity  
of the bitches who had taken him by surprise, and taken his clothes and  
cash as well. 'Plus which', he snarled to himself for the thousandth  
time, 'I loved my Tagamotchi-chan, I'd kept him alive for two weeks,  
*snff*, and the bitch _sold_ him, sold him like a slave.'  
  
But he had her now, oh yes. She couldn't surprise him _now_, and he'd  
picked up a number of fine Japanese-Nationalistic students the  
barbarian whore had humiliated the day before, too. Soon, she'd come  
through the gate and then ... then she'd get a surprise of her own! And  
then he _would_ see if she was a natural redhead, teach her what a  
_real_ man was like! 'Bitch's gotta learn her place!'  
  
And no-one else would interfere, he'd left the cringing gaijin-otaku  
pigs too terrified to even move!  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
And this is a normal street (for Nerima), and down it Akane and Nabiki  
are walking on their way to school. Progressing, it should be noted, in  
the normal, or common, fashion, which is to say, on the ground. And  
flanking this common street is a common rooftop, belonging to a common  
business; and along this rooftop Ranma is progressing, in an _un_common  
fashion, which is to say, in bouncing leaps, five to ten yards long.  
  
It would not be entirely fair to say that the Tendo sisters were  
_surprised_ by Ranma's sudden appearance; they had been expecting it,  
and besides, leaping from rooftops was normal compared to what they had  
already seen her do. But they were, undeniably, startled. And startled  
again by the fact that she appeared to have been, while blithely  
leaping from place to place along the skyline, _singing_.  
  
When we sat down to Tea, hey do me harity  
When we sat down to Tea, me being young,  
When we sat down to Tea, he started teasing me,  
Maids, when you're young, never wed an old man!  
  
Finishing the verse as she settled gracefully to earth, Ranma swept the  
other girls a great bow, and fell in beside them with a warm greeting  
to Akane, and a merry one to Nabiki.  
  
"And _what_," Akane queried amusedly, "was that?"  
  
"Song, Boys, For The Teasing Of, One," Ranma smirked.  
  
"You, Bushiko Ranma, are _Evil_!"  
  
"Yes, I know. Ain't it _cool_?!"  
  
And they walked on toward school, and Ranma taught Akane the words, and  
Nabiki shook her head in amusement, and sighed.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Asano Sayuri shivered in terror, and looked out the window of the  
second floor. She couldn't, she was too afraid, but if she didn't ....  
The man called Daken was terrifying, so cruel in appearance, and the  
threats he had made ....   
  
She wasn't a brave person, she felt, but someone had to warn Ranma-san!  
And she could see, just looking around, that no-one else was going to,  
they were all afraid of those slime who had _joined_ the, the  
_mongrel_.   
  
But that meant that no-one would help _her_, and they'd know who had  
called out, and she wasn't a brave person. But ... _but_, she'd heard  
Ranma-san sing. And she'd seen Ranma-san stand up for Akane-san when  
no-one else would. Ranma-san, she was sure, would defeat these mongrels  
if only she was warned. But what if she didn't, couldn't, what then?  
  
And then she saw, coming down the street in the distance, three  
feminine figures; and discovered, suddenly, that she _was_ a brave  
person, after all.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Walking down the street with Akane, Ranma felt, was one of the better  
ways to begin a school day that she had yet encountered. Akane had  
proven an apt, if somewhat embarrassed, student of /Maids, When You're  
Young/, and the verbal sparring with Nabiki had kept honors relatively  
even in the opening exchanges.  
  
Despite the company and the conversation, however, a martial artist of  
Ranma's skill is never entirely inattentive to her surroundings, and  
the concentration of hostility, clumsily gathered ki, and focused  
attention hiding just behind the wall ahead of her would have waked her  
from the dead in any case.  
  
"Don't change your stance Ranma whispered sotto voce, "and keep  
walking forward. I think, Akane, that our friends from yesterday have  
grown melancholy in our absence, and have come to renew acquaintances."  
  
Nabiki controlled her reaction automatically, but nevertheless  
stiffened slightly, 'What?'  
  
Akane pasted a wooden smile on her face and gripped Ranma's arm  
urgently "Ranma, don't kill them!"  
  
Ranma winked in reply, "Oh, if I had intended to kill them I'd have  
done it last night. But since they didn't learn the earlier lesson we  
taught them I think something slightly... stronger ... is in order.  
Don't you?" Steering them gently toward the center of the gate she  
continued, "Nabiki, how are you at negotiations from the superior  
position?"  
  
Nabiki frowned, "You're joking, right?"  
  
Ranma grinned again, "Just keep walking, and keep your cool." As they  
approached the gate she gathered ki for a momentary burst of extreme  
speed, and then...  
  
"_Ranma-sama, look out!!!_" a shout broke from the upper windows of  
Furinkan, and Ranma spared half a second for an exasperated silent  
curse as Daken turned, furiously, to the school and marked the person  
he now fully intended to kill. Then she spent another quarter second to  
center herself as Daken cursed and lunged and the other thugs began to  
leap forward. And then she _blurred_.  
  
And Akane and Nabiki walked into the suddenly quiet and still court-  
yard of Furinkan; past the statue-like forms of the various thugs,  
(arrested suddenly in mid-motion and still stunned, and also quite  
naked, their only covering the brown ribbons neatly tied around their,  
ah, ... "equipment") to where Ranma waited in the middle of the yard,  
next to a vendor's stand neatly piled with various items of apparel,  
smiling merrily and counting through the largish pile of cash next to  
the credit cards on the counter-top.  
  
"Why, Ranma," Nabiki drawled archly, "there seems to be a group of  
naked boys standing about the courtyard."  
  
"400,000 yen," Ranma said, handing half the money to a furiously  
blushing Akane, "not bad. Yes, Nabiki, I did notice that, but boys will  
be boys, you know: anything for attention."  
  
Daken snarled furiously, and began a lunge towards the girls. Ranma  
turned half around, mildly, and across 30 feet of courtyard Daken met  
her eyes. Blue as the deepest ocean, still and quiet as a  
moon-reflecting pool, hungry and terrible as the pregnant silence at  
the eye of a hurricane. Met them, and saw, reflected in them, himself  
and his relationship to them. And dived, suddenly terrified, for a  
small clump of bushes abutting the wall and about ten feet away.  
Someplace he could hide, someplace he could die, anyplace at all, as  
long as he didn't have to see those eyes, ever, ever again.  
  
And Ranma turned back to Nabiki calmly and said, "Considering the  
penalties for indecent exposure, and the relative status of flashers in  
the prison population, though, it's extremely fortunate for them that  
you had this stall of emergency clothing ready, isn't it."   
  
"Oh, you know me Nabiki grinned, "I always like to keep little things  
like this around, for just such an emergency. I wonder, though, how  
they're going to pay for it, considering their evident lack of ready  
cash."  
  
Ranma patted her on the shoulder as she passed by, "You're a capable  
person Nabiki, I'm sure you'll think of something." And linking arms  
with Akane and turning to her, "Ready? One, Two, Three ..." And their  
voices rose above the onlookers in song...  
  
When we went up to bed, hey do me harity  
When we went up to bed, me being young,  
When we went up to bed, he lay as if 'twer dead,  
Maids, when you're young, never wed an old man!  
  
And Nabiki shook her head, sadly, and turned to where the bushes  
quivered in terror, and indicated the sirens rising in the far distance  
with a wave of her hand. "Well, gentlemen, what's your feeling about  
extended negotiations at this point?"  
  
And Ranma and Akane walked up the stairs to class, singing.  
  
For he's got no Faloorum, Faleerum, Fallorum,  
For he's got no Fallorum, Faleerum, Falaay!  
He's got no Fallorum, he's lost his Ding-Doorum,  
Maids, when you're young, never wed an old man!  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
At lunch, Ranma and Akane sat under a small tree, conversing. Finishing  
her lunch, Ranma pulled out her guitar, and played tunes idly for a  
while before noticing the shy approach of one of her new classmates.  
  
"Sayuri-san, isn't it? You acted honorably this morning, thank you."   
  
Sayuri blushed, and stammered; "I couldn't, that is I, er, I...."   
  
Ranma smiled, gently, "It took bravery to call out like that. You must  
have been very frightened."  
  
Sayuri blushed harder, and looked down at her feet, "I, I wasn't brave.  
I _was_ afraid."  
  
Ranma grinned, "That's what bravery is about! Being afraid, and doing  
the right thing anyway. What can I do for you?"  
  
"Um, well, I just wondered ... about the song you were playing? It  
seemed so ... ferocious?"  
  
"Oh, well Ranma grinned, "that song is from Canada, originally. I  
translated it. And yes, it is a tad ferocious. Would you to hear it?"   
  
"Um, yes."  
  
"I'd like to hear it too, Ranma Akane chimed in. And Ranma raised her  
voice and sang.  
  
The clothes men wear do give them airs,  
their fellows to compare.  
A Colonel's regimentals shine,  
and women call them fair.   
I am Alexander Macintosh,  
a nephew to the Laird.  
And I do disdain men who are vain,  
the men with powdered hair!   
  
I command the Nancy schooner  
from the May on Lake St. Clair,  
On the third day of October, boys,  
I did set sail from there.  
To the garrison at Amherstburg  
I quickly would repair,  
With Captain Maxwell and his wife,  
and kids and powdered hair.   
  
Aboard the Nancy!  
In regimentals bright.  
Aboard the Nancy!  
With all his pomp and bluster there  
aboard the Nancy-O!   
  
Below the St Clair rapids I   
sent scouts unto the shore  
To ask a friendly Wyandott  
to say what lay before  
"Amherstburg has fallen,  
with the same for you in store!  
And militia sent to take you there,  
fifty horse or more."   
  
Up spoke Captain Maxwell then,  
"Surrender, now, I say!  
Give them your Nancy schooner,  
and make off without delay!  
Set me ashore, I do implore,  
I will not die this way!"  
Says I, "You go, or get below,  
for I'll be on my way!"   
  
Aboard the Nancy!  
"Surrender, Hell!" I say   
Aboard the Nancy!  
"It's back to Mackinac I'll fight,  
aboard the Nancy-O."   
  
Well up comes Colonel Beaubien, then,  
who shouts as he comes near:  
"Surrender up your schooner and  
I swear you've naught to fear!  
We've got your Captain Maxwell, sir,  
so spare yourself his tears!"  
Says I, "I'll not, but send you shot  
to buzz about your ears!"   
  
Well, they fired as we hove anchor, boys  
and we got under way,  
But scarce a dozen broadsides, boys,  
the Nancy did them pay  
Before the business sickened them.  
They bravely ran away  
All sail we made, and reached the Lake  
before the close of day.   
  
Aboard the Nancy!  
We sent them shot and cheers  
Aboard the Nancy!  
We watched them running through the trees,   
aboard the Nancy-O!  
  
Oh, military gentlemen  
they bluster, roar and pray.  
Nine sailors and the Nancy, boys,  
made fifty run away.  
The powder in their hair that day  
was powder sent their way  
By poor and ragged sailor men,  
who swore that they would stay   
  
Aboard the Nancy!  
Six pence and found a day  
Aboard the Nancy!  
No uniforms for men to scorn,  
aboard the Nancy-O!   
  
"Heh ... Definitely catchy, Ranma-san Nabiki walked up. "Which reminds  
me ..."  
  
"Yeess?"  
  
"Why _brown_ ribbons?"  
  
"Well, after all, Nabiki-san Ranma's eyes glinted mischief, "You only  
get a _white_ ribbon if you get an honorable mention."   
  
After which, the students of Furinkan High were treated to an  
unprecedented sight: Tendo Nabiki, leaning against the wall of the  
school building, clutching her ribs desperately, laughing her head off.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
In the Girl's changing rooms, later, a minor confrontation was  
underway. The sensei of Phys-Ed, having decided that Ranma qualified  
under the "Advanced" curriculum, had run head-on into a wall of polite  
intransigence. Finally, she battered down the defenses with an appeal  
to school honor. If Ranma did not wear the gym uniform, she reasoned,  
the other students would be disgraced.  
  
Finally, Ranma had, reluctantly, agreed. Therefore she was preparing to  
change into the shorts and t-shirt which Furinkan girls wore on the  
field. This had been an object of some speculation among the girls (and  
boys, of course) since it afforded a look at her bodily configuration,  
and promised another, better one later.  
  
It wasn't what they had expected. The thin, white lines of many scars  
on arms and legs were definitely not what the girls of class 2-F felt  
should have been hidden under Ranma's jacket and pants; much less the  
broad, raised scar across her voice-box. The boxers and chest-wrap were  
likewise odd, but it was the dragon tattoo peeking out from under her  
wrap that drew the most attention.  
  
Finally, as the designated activity for this class was soccer, came the  
most dreaded activity in sports: choosing sides. Needless to say,  
everyone wanted to be on Ranma's side, and no-one wanted to be on the  
other side. Finally, a sotto voce suggestion from one of the more  
horrified class members caused the sides to be chosen as follows: Side  
A: Bushiko Ranma; Side B: Everyone Else.  
  
"We ought to set an upper limit of goals," Ranma suggested  
sardonically, "declare an instant win at twelve or so. With one side so  
outnumbered and all I'm sure that it will be over quickly, and we  
wouldn't want anyone to be overly embarrassed."  
  
The suggestion was passed by acclamation, the teams took the field, and  
the whistle blew. And, just as Ranma had predicted, it was over  
quickly. The score was Ranma: twelve, Everyone Else: zero, in just  
under three minutes. After that, by acclamation, they did something  
else, instead.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
In the showers, after the lambasting, a chuckling Ranma congratulated  
Sayuri on a difficult gymnastics move as she pulled her braid back and  
looked up into the shower spray. Unfortunately, the heat of the water  
caused her skin to flush, particularly on her torso, where the Dragon  
seemed to preen under the heated spray, and beneath the amulet she  
still wore on her breast.  
  
The flush had the effect of throwing her scars into sharp relief, and  
Ranma paused as she noted Sayuri's horrified gaze, fixed on her right  
breast, where the pale line of an old scar bisected her aureole. Ranma  
looked down, blushed, and shook her head, "The problem with my  
lifestyle over the past several years is that it has thrown me far too  
often into the company of rude strangers with sharp objects."   
  
And she shrugged, and smiled weakly, and went back to her shower. And  
Akane, behind her, narrowed her eyes speculatively and nodded, as  
though a decision had been confirmed. And then they all went back to  
class, looking forward to music, and the end of the school day beyond.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma & Akane: A Love Story.   
Chapter 2: The Second Day  
Part C: Crumbling Stone: Duets for Wind and Flame.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
I was riding west, through Ontake Mountains.  
The hills were heavy with new-fallen snow,  
And the sun-bright hills were dappled like a pony,  
I was riding hard, I had miles to go.  
  
And a magpie flew, 'cross the mountain highway,  
It flashed and tumbled, through the golden trees,  
And I thought of you, and my heart was lifted,  
And floated with that magpie, on the morning breeze.  
  
Predictably, Akane had made the best match to Ranma's voice. Which is  
not to say that the other members of class 2-F hadn't tried. Sayuri and  
her friend Yuka has put up a brave struggle, and, of course, all the  
boys in 2-F had desperately attempted to hold enough of a baritone to  
match Ranma's contralto. But, in the end, Akane's clear soprano had  
been the only one with enough endurance, or range.  
  
It was the sensei of music's private despair that neither girl was at  
all interested in representing Furinkan on the Musical Performance  
team. He had even attempted to lure Ranma with reports of "Musical  
Martial Arts" only to run headlong into a will of tempered granite.   
  
"I have spent too much of my life, and far too much pain, on my Art to  
betray it now Ranma had said, firmly, "it is as perfect as I can make  
it and I will not abandon it simply so someone trained in another,  
lesser, style can have a 'fair fight'. If someone wishes to challenge  
me to Aikido, or Ninjutsu, or Martial Arts Croquet or Kung-Fu Break-  
Dancing or any other such silliness they may do so. And they may use  
their Art, and I will use mine, and we will see whose is superior." Her  
grin as she delivered this pronouncement had been truly alarming, and  
the matter had been dropped.  
  
This had led to Ranma and Akane practicing duets on the same song that  
Ranma had began with yesterday.  
  
We are brief Summer lightning,  
We are swift as swallows' flight.  
We are sparks that spiral upwards,  
In the darkness of the night.  
We are frost upon the window,  
We won't pass this way again,  
In the end only love remains.  
  
It seemed that they should cooperate on the chorus, which led to the  
question of how to divide up the verses. So Ranma had taken the first  
set alone.  
  
Tonight the Harvest Moon hangs over the valley,  
I see the hills shine, in its' silvery light.  
It's the same old Moon, that shines down upon me,  
And'll light my way, till I'm by your side.  
  
For where I go, You go with me,   
Though the miles keep us apart.  
Your kisses on my lips, and your arms around me,  
And your gentle hands, always on my heart.  
  
Akane's soprano had rung out both more softly and more sweetly than  
Ranma on the second set, leading to the harmonies of their combined  
voices and Ranma's guitar on the second chorus.  
  
We are brief Summer lightning,  
We are swift as swallows' flight.  
We are sparks that spiral upwards,  
In the darkness of the night.  
We are frost upon the window,  
We won't pass this way again,  
In the end only love remains.  
  
And then it was time for the final verses and the problem of how to  
apportion them was solved, mutually, by alternating lines, first the  
contralto, smoke and ozone on the autumn wind and the presence -far off  
and brooding- of the storm; then the soprano, crackling now with  
driving energy, bright and pure, (yet, somehow, not at all sterile)  
filled with the changeable changelessness of a bonfire's roar.  
  
Well who scattered these diamonds,   
through the vault of Heaven?   
  
(The wind questioned, and the flame responded.)  
  
Who drew the curve of the magpie's wing?  
  
(The bonfire summoned, and the breeze answered.)  
  
Who shaped your face, and what made you love me?  
  
(The rising wind commanded, and the snapping flame obeyed.)  
  
Where is the heart of every living thing?  
  
(The blaze flamed higher, and the wind grew with it, and fed it, and  
drove it on before.)  
  
Well, I guess I don't know, and I don't care either.  
  
(Wind roused flame to life ...)  
  
I know you love me, how could it not be?  
  
(... flame drew wind's reply ...)  
  
And I am yours, now and forever,  
  
(... feeding now from each other's power, one to the other, changing  
and exchanging the lead, to join again in harmony at the last ... )  
  
'Til my lips fall silent, and my eyes can't see.  
  
(... and the wind whipped the blaze into a wildfire ...)  
  
We are brief Summer lightning,  
We are swift as swallows' flight.  
We are sparks that spiral upwards,  
In the darkness of the night.  
  
(... and the fire blew the wind into a storm.)  
  
We are frost upon the window,  
We won't pass this way again,  
In the end Dear, only love remains.  
  
And in the silence that filled the classroom when the song had  
finished, Ranma's slightly husky voice broke the stillness gently, like  
a sudden breeze breaks the hush of dawn, "By the way Akane, shouldn't  
you have been playing your instrument too?"  
  
"Um, well ... Akane shook herself and replied, "No. You see I play the  
saxophone, and if I play I can't sing ...."  
  
"You play _sax_??" Ranma blink-blinked, then mumbled, "Jazz. Now where  
am I gonna get sheet music for Jazz. Mmm, maybe I could .... Well,  
that's nice, but it does leave us with one problem."   
  
"Er, what's that, Ranma? Akane asked warily.  
  
"Where in hell are we going to find a drummer?"  
  
The bell took the opportunity to ring at that point, ending the class.  
And also cutting off at least three boys' attempts to volunteer for the  
offered position (not that any of them could actually _play_ the drums,  
but that wasn't the point), which was, probably, extremely fortunate  
for all involved.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Nabiki had excused herself for an unspecified appointment. Sayuri and  
Yuka had departed, giggling, to prepare the former for a date she had  
contrived with "this dreamy guy" from class 3-C. Various other people  
had departed to their various ways.   
  
Ranma and Akane were, technically speaking, not _alone_, just _by  
themselves_. They had therefore, by mutual, unspoken, consent, departed  
from the straight path towards Akane's home and were, instead,  
strolling idly through one of Nerima's parks, enjoying the warmth of  
the day and the freshness of the spring breeze. This being one of the  
Accepted Canonical Locations for Serious Discussions, one of the  
aforesaid Serious Discussions was underway.   
  
"Akane-san Ranma gritted, "I _said_ that you should ..."   
  
"I did consider my decision, Ranma-chan Akane replied calmly. "I  
decided that I wanted to go ahead."  
  
"_Damn it, girl_!" Ranma roared, "You've got _no_ idea what you're  
getting into!"  
  
"Ranma-chan Akane reached out and put a gentle hand on the faint scar  
that traced the side of Ranma's face, next to her mouth, "when you took  
the blow that dealt that scar, did it hurt? Did it hurt afterwards?"  
  
"_OF COURSE IT BLOODY HURT!!!_"  
  
"And, the others?" Akane's voice was gentle, "Did they hurt, too?"   
  
"What the hell kind of question is that?! Of _course_ they did!"   
  
"And after you healed, did they stop hurting?"  
  
"What are you ... _No!_ They never stop hurting, not completely! I  
_ache_ in the winter, sometimes!"  
  
"And you said that your honor didn't allow you to let your friend  
suffer likewise unless she _had_ to?"  
  
"_THAT'S WHY I'M TRYING TO TALK YOU OUT OF IT IN THE FIRST PLACE, YOU,  
YOU ... BAKA!!!_"  
  
Akane stepped forward to stand just in front of Ranma, face-to-face and  
looking closely into her cerulean eyes. "So what makes you think that  
_my_ honor will allow me to let _my_ friend suffer all that pain ...  
alone?"  
  
And Bushiko Ranma, whose name had once been otherwise, looked into the  
great, dark, eyes of her opponent in this contest of wills, of her  
would-be student, of her friend; and found there no challenge, but also  
no surrender. And martialed a hundred arguments, and prepared a  
thousand objections, and called to mind every precept of logic she had  
ever heard. And saw, in the theater of memory, -- treacherous memory,  
that shows what it will, and not what _you_ will -- another face. And  
the expression in the eyes before her mirrored once, long before, in a  
mirror. And bowed her head to another's honor, and bent her neck to  
another's necessity; and buried her face in another's shoulder, and  
felt another's arms embrace her; and did not cry, nor did she weep, so  
great was her control, whatever she might wish. Only, instead, she  
spoke, very low and muffled in another's breast, "Alright. Alright,  
I'll teach you. I'll teach you all I can."  
  
And Tendo Akane also did not cry, nor weep, for the moment was, for  
her, too great for tears. She only said "And I promise to learn, all  
that I can. And never to regret what you may teach, whatever it may  
cost me."  
  
And they stood like that for a time, which may have been long or short,  
and then released each other's embrace. And walked onward, more quickly  
now, to the hall that one called home.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
On the mat Ranma bowed to the Dojo's spirit and then turned to face  
Akane and crossed her arms. "Okay. We now face the First Problem of  
teaching you how to lead a life dedicated to the fine art of slaughter.  
Briefly, the problem is one of attitude. A warrior simply has a  
different basic attitude than a person trained for sport or self-  
defense, and the necessary attitude is one you don't possess."  
  
Akane assumed an attitude of respectful attention.  
  
"And the number of ways I know of to induce the necessary attitude  
reduce to three said Ranma, beginning to pace back and forth. "First,  
we could send you to a remote temple for two or three decades so you  
could run up and down snowy mountains, and drink bark tea, and meditate  
on your navel.   
  
"_But_, we can probably say that this approach will take a _trifle_  
more time than we actually have." Ranma reached the end of her pacing  
arc, and raised one finger in the air as she turned around.  
  
Akane turned her head to face her, still attentive.  
  
"Second, we could send you off to somewhere where life is cheap,  
gunpowder is in the air, and death lurks behind every corner, in the  
hope that, if you survived, you would pick something up by osmosis.   
  
"_But_, that approach is probably a little too, umm ... _uncertain_."  
Ranma reached the other end of her arc and held up a second finger.   
  
Akane made a face, and nodded vigorously.  
  
"So what we are left with is choice three Ranma said with an evil  
grin, holding up a third finger. "This is the approach where I beat the  
living snot out of you on a regular basis until you learn something."   
  
Akane observed the grin, and gulped.  
  
"And the first part of that process Ranma said, turning to face Akane,  
and crossing her arms again, "is to see precisely what you are capable  
of _now_. _Assume_."  
  
Akane brushed away a sudden bead of sweat, and assumed the Tendo  
Musabetsu Kakuto Ryu Crane In Waiting stance.  
  
Akane waited uneasily. Ranma looked her up and down for about three  
seconds, and then she moved.   
  
It seemed, to Akane, like being in the center of a tornado. Great winds  
buffeted her from all sides, and her defenses were useless against the  
hail of punishing blows descending from every angle that she didn't, or  
couldn't block, but not from the ones she did.   
  
A slide kick sent her sprawling to the ground, followed by three fast  
and bruising punches to the small of her back, but she fought grimly  
upright and cleared some space with a sweeping hip kick that only cost  
her two snap-kicks to the knee and a crane strike to the thigh. Setting  
her back against the Dojo's outside wall, and reminding herself not to  
move on that leg, she waited as steadily as she could for Ranma's next  
attack.  
  
It came within seconds, a v-step across Akane's range that turned into  
a feint to her upper right guard. A 'feint' that succeeded in bashing  
her out of position for another series of feints, each contacting her  
defenses, each bruising her arms or legs, each moving her farther and  
farther off her defensive center, until her guard was completely down.   
  
In the extremity of her extension, turned half away from the guarding  
wall, when she could respond to no more threats, she watched, with  
despair, a rising power kick that she knew she could never stop.  
Awaiting the end, she noted, as if from her peripheral vision, a slight  
movement _behind_ her, and then the world went black.   
  
She awakened upside down against a wall. She knew that only moments  
could have passed, but from the condition of her abused muscles it  
might have been hours. She was gently turned over and set upright,  
squatting against the wall, and blearily forced her eyes open - to  
discover Ranma kneeling in front of her, wiping her face clean of sweat  
and blood with a handkerchief. And grinning merrily, as though she had  
just been told the best joke in all the world.  
  
Akane frowned weakly, "I know I'm not in your class, Ranma-sensei, but  
I ..."  
  
Ranma's grin transmuted into a gentle smile and she shook her head.  
"Not in my class? Heh. Not in my class. *snrk*. Akane-chan she asked,  
more gently yet, "do you know why you're lying here on the ground,  
feeling run over?"  
  
"Well I missed that last power kick ... Akane responded uncertainly.  
  
"The power kick was a feint, Akane-chan Ranma returned to her grin,  
"the real attack was the thrust-kick from behind. The thrust-kick that  
would have stopped before it actually hit you, like the death-blow I  
did to Kuno-san. The thrust-kick that you couldn't even have _seen_,  
much less blocked. That thrust-kick."  
  
"Oh Akane said weakly, "So, what happened?"  
  
"You blocked it, of course Ranma's grin was even larger now.  
  
"I thought you said I _couldn't_ have blocked it Akane complained,  
weakly. Something here wasn't making sense.  
  
"You couldn't have Ranma replied cheerfully, "But you did, anyway. And  
there's only one way that could have happened."  
  
Akane shook her head, as if to dislodge whatever particle of  
inspiration was hiding in it that was keeping the conversation from  
making sense. "Wh .. What's that Ranma-sensei?" she quavered.  
  
Ranma's grin seemed to split her face, "You must have gone zanshin,  
Akane-chan. It's the only way you could even have come close. With all  
your defenses down. Completely overextended. And without even _meaning_  
to."  
  
"Z .. Zanshin, Ranma-sensei? You mean like, like Mushashi-sama? The  
_Book of Five Rings_?"  
  
"Exactly! And, of course, you know what _that_ means?"  
  
"N-no, I mean, I don't ... what?" Akane shook her head frantically,  
desperate to find something that made sense. Zanshin? Her?   
  
"It means you made me completely waste all that angst I went through,  
that's what. You're as surely marked with the Murderer's sign as am I."  
Ranma traced a circle on her forehead with a gentle hand. "It means you  
will probably end up being better than _me_. It means that I've found  
my Perfect Student, the one I can learn from as much as I teach. And  
what, what, _what_ in the name of all that is holy is a nice girl like  
you doing in a condition like that?"  
  
Akane's battered mind seized on the only thing she recognized in all  
that barrage of words, and came up with the only appropriate response,  
smiling weakly, "Umm, Just lucky, I guess?"  
  
Ranma's silver laughter filled the empty hall. And then she abandoned  
any attempt to urge Akane to rise, and cradled her in her arms, rising  
smoothly to her feet as Akane feebly waved her hands in protest.  
  
"And now we'll get you in the furo. You need to soak."  
  
"But, but, that is, I don't, you shouldn't ..."  
  
"Hush, Akane. The Sensei Is Always Right."  
  
"But you, I, it's not ..."  
  
"Hush, Akane-chan."  
  
"Don't need, why, can walk, ..."  
  
"_Hush!_"  
  
"Er, umm, that is... Yes, Ranma-chan meekly.  
  
"And then I'll give you a massage, to keep you from being too stiff  
tomorrow."  
  
"Erkk... very meekly indeed.  
  
"And after that we'll get Kasumi-san to make you a _big_ meal, so you  
can keep your strength up."  
  
"Oh, no a very, very small voice.  
  
"And after _that_, we can do some _real_ training!"  
  
"Help almost inaudible, in fact. Not that it helped.  
  
And Ranma's cheerful laughter blew them into the furo. And then they  
did exactly what Ranma had said they would.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
And much later, long after dark, as Ranma wound her way alone to her  
rented flat, and Akane slept the sleep of the Just -- or, anyway, the  
Sleep of the Very, Very Tired --, Ranma looked up into the light-glare  
that blotted out the stars above Tokyo, and snorted.  
  
"'Keep your head down, and hope you find a friend', I said. Hah! Oh,  
well I can't complain about the quality of her art at least. Even if it  
is bloody inconvenient! 'Here Ranma, have a day, you've found your  
Perfect Student. Of course, you've only got six months to teach her in,  
but...'."   
  
Musingly, "It's loads better than that last school, at least. Food  
fights, bleah. Oh, yes, it could _definitely_ be worse."   
  
And then she began, without raising her voice, to sing. And continued  
singing all the way down the road.  
  
The brooding ghosts of this dark night  
Are gone from wood and Town.  
My spirit revives in the morning breeze,  
Though it died when Sun went down.  
The river is wide, the stream is strong,  
And the grass is green and tall.  
And I feign would think that this world of ours,  
Is a good world, after all.  
  
The light of passion in dreamy eyes,  
The page of truth well read,  
The glorious thrill in a heart grown cold,  
And a spirit once thought dead.  
The song that goes to a comrade's heart,  
The tear of pride let fall,  
My heart grows brave, and the world, to me,  
Is a good world, after all.  
  
Let our enemies go by their own dull paths,  
Let theirs be doubt and shame.  
The man who's bitter against the world  
Has only himself to blame.  
Let the darkest side of the past stay dark,  
And only good recall,   
For I must believe that the world, to me,  
Is a good world, after all.  
  
It may be that I saw too plain,  
It may be I was blind,  
But I'll keep my face to the morning light,  
Though the Devil stand behind.  
Though the Devil may stand behind my back  
Shall I see his shadow fall?  
And I'll read, in the light of the Morning Star  
Of a good world, after all.  
  
And then, very softly:  
  
Rest, for your arms are weary, Love,  
You drove the worst away.  
And the ghost of the one that I might have been  
Is gone from my heart today.  
We'll live our life for the good it brings,  
'Till our twilight shadows fall.  
Oh, my heart grows brave, and the world, to me,  
Is a good world, after all.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Next:  
Chapter 3: The Third Day  
Part A: Point of Contact; The Hunter and the Bear.  
  
Authors Notes: Not so many, this time.  
  
The first part was a try at using mood and shadow, rather than more  
action-based writing, and I think it did its job. I'm trying to imply  
much of the background detail, indeed, I think that Ranma's role in  
this little story kind-of requires that there be a sense of a great  
amount of background detail to be had. So, rather than trying to make  
talking heads interesting ....  
  
Secondly, I discovered that there was another hero on the premises who  
I had not expected. Heh. And Ranma got to be a little nasty, to  
counteract the honorable idiot mode he (or she) is normally cast in.  
  
Finally, we come to the third part, and the beginning of Akane's rise  
to her own heroic status. And also, I'm beginning to hint at the cost  
she and Ranma will eventually have to pay to gain, or in Ranma's case,  
_regain_, that high status.  
  
Ranma's actions here are underscoring the degree to which he has, in a  
sense, lapsed from a formerly heroic standing, which is what I mean  
when I say _re_gain his status as a hero. That is, where once he would  
have tackled problems head on (for better or for worse), he's now going  
around them, and choosing the easier, safer path.   
  
While in certain circumstances this is a good thing, when someone fails  
to look and see whether the difficult path might not perhaps be the  
_right_ path to take, it can lead you into a morass. As it currently  
doing in the matter of his and Akane's romantic relationship, and as it  
shall do again more than once before he pulls himself out of it.  
  
'Til next chapter,  
  
Eric Hallstrom, 01/16/2001 


	3. The Third Day

Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only swinging on  
the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found  
them and please don't feed the Trolls.  
  
/The Hunter and the Bear/ was picked up from Alan Cole and Chris Bunch,  
and extensively filled out by me. If it originated with them, they own  
whatever copyright exists. If it didn't, they don't. It was originally  
told by Wee Alex, Laird Kilgour of Kilgour, who _may_ have Ranma beat  
in cool, but who is nowhere near as cute.  
  
Jei-san, on the other hand (look that's his name, okay?) is the  
exclusive property of Stan Sakai, who is welcome to him. I am merely  
borrowing his likeness, and will return it as soon as I am done with  
it. And not before time too, I don't want it sticking around in my  
head.   
  
"Summer Lightning" and "Stars in Their Crown" are by Garnet Rogers, as  
before.  
  
This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/  
  
Release 1.3 (Dec. 04, 2000)  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
She could barely believe her luck.   
  
It had already been a day to cherish forever in memory. First, she had  
been brave. Ranma-sempai herself had said so. Not that she really  
believed that she had been brave, as such. She had simply felt that  
something needed to be done, and then she had done it. Still, it had  
gotten her praise and admiration, and Ranma-sempai had even thanked her  
for it, so ....   
  
She had, however, discovered that it was far preferable to feel that  
one had been brave than to feel brave in the current moment. The reason  
being, being brave _now_ meant that something deeply unpleasant must,  
by definition, be happening; whereas, on the other hand, _having been_  
brave meant that the unpleasant thing must have been faced. And, of  
course, overcome. (The narrator would like to note at this time that  
the subject is, after all, only seventeen.)  
  
Second, her newfound notoriety had gotten her a date! Which she was  
just now returning from. And which had been really fun, too. Not as  
good as it could have been, true, but the cute guy from class 3-C had  
been able to afford a trip to a _good_ restaurant - a good _expensive_  
restaurant - and had spent most of the evening paying attention to her.  
Even if it had only been so he could ask about Ranma. So, she felt, the  
gates had been opened, and it was now possible that she might achieve  
the lofty heights of Going Steady. Just as soon as she found one of the  
boys at Furinkan who wasn't a jerk. She was sure there must be _one_.  
  
But third, ahh _third_, now there was the thing. The great thing. The  
unalloyedly wonderful thing. For, walking home from her date, she had  
passed a park. And her attention had been drawn to an area just inside  
a screen of bush, where she had made A Find. A wonderful find. She,  
Asano Sayuri, Furinkan High Class 2-F, had found ... a puppy!   
  
Stop snickering. Right now.  
  
It was weak and half-starved, and very ragged looking, but she knew  
that it would grow up fine and strong. It had weakly snapped at her  
hand, but she knew that she would soon win its heart, and that it would  
be loyal and true. Best of all, it was in the park unhelped by any but  
herself, which meant it must be free for any who could aid and protect  
it. And since it was obviously Greatly In Need, her parents would have,  
could have, no objection to her keeping it.  
  
Asano Sayuri, at heart, was a great romantic, who frequently viewed the  
world through glasses not merely rose-colored, but actively  
rose-projecting, and so she smiled and skipped slightly as she carried  
home the wolf cub she had found. It would, she knew, be grand. And,  
invisible to her view (since it was turned away from her), a tiny fleck  
of green light flickered in one of the wolf cub's eyes, and then went  
out.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
And Kuno Kodachi sat quietly and watched her brother with what passed,  
for her, as concern. He had been very different since yesterday, and no  
previous simple beating had ever engendered such a result. Also, she  
noticed, his sword was now securely locked in its sheath, instead of  
displayed on its stand, as was proper.   
  
Perhaps some spell had been cast on her idiotic older brother. Or  
perhaps something else odd had occurred. In any case, she supposed, she  
would have to check herself. Furinkan, bah! She had visited before, and  
in the whole school there was no person of merit or spirit. No person  
at all.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
  
And across Nerima a number of phone conversations burned late into the  
night. They had been beaten. They had been disgraced and dishonored.  
Moreover, some felt, they had deserved it. First, they had failed to  
adequately take into account the proper considerations of a challenge,  
and second, they had attempted to attack by surprise. A direct frontal  
confrontation, it was agreed, would certainly lead to a restoration of  
honor. In one sense or another.  
  
And in a maison apartment on the outskirts of the district liquified  
moonlight dripped, over a jade ring, into a silver pan.   
  
And the night rolled on. And morning came.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma & Akane: A Love Story.   
Chapter 3: The Third Day  
Part A: Point of Contact: The Hunter and the Bear  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Bushiko Ranma exited her apartment as the sun rose above her  
windowsill. Behind her she left her apartments just as she had the day  
before; ahead of her she had a wait of at least 30 minutes before Akane  
would conceivably leave the Tendo Dojo for school. A half-hour of which  
she intended to make full use.  
  
The basic problem, she reflected, was that she had very little  
experience in dealing with the emotion of great happiness. The only  
means of easily dealing with _any_ great emotion she had was to work  
off the excess energy. Therefore ...  
  
She leapt, touched one toe to the nearest roof and leapt again. Spun in  
mid-air, turned a somersault, bounced off a passing air molecule,  
tapped a toe on a passing water-tower, back-flipped 30 yards of  
warehouse, touched down in a cartwheel, leapt again. Flickering from  
foothold to hand-hold, flashing from tower to wall, dancing across the  
Neriman skyline, her only accompaniment the musical chiming of her own  
delighted laughter, filling the air behind her progress like a chorus  
of golden bells.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma came down on Akane from out of the rising sun. Akane determined  
that Ranma's attack wasn't really serious by the simple fact that she  
could defend against it. Instead Ranma neatly bounced off her raised  
arm, transferring no force but achieving enough velocity to bounce off  
a nearby fence in another attack.   
  
This sequence continued with Akane blocking and Ranma delivering more  
and more complex and difficult attacks. Each coming increasingly closer  
to breaking past her guard as Akane's defensive maneuvers drew her  
farther and farther away from Nabiki, to the point where her back was  
almost against the fence by the side of the road.   
  
Then a sneaky rebound off the fence behind her left her nowhere to go  
but up. She snap-jumped to the top of the fence and was then forced  
repeatedly back, unable to spare the attention needed to discover where  
she was but happy just to have no more than one direction from which to  
expect attacks.   
  
Akane was driven back more than sixty yards along the fence before  
Ranma took pity and ceased her attack. Akane stayed in a defensive  
stance for another few seconds as Nabiki came running up with her mouth  
open.   
  
"Akane! That was great! I didn't think anyone could move along the top  
of a fence like that!"  
  
Akane looked down, wavered, and wildly waved her arms in an attempt to  
keep her balance, but succeeded only in falling off the inside of the  
fence, onto the sidewalk (instead of the outside, into the stream).   
  
Looking up from her position flat on her rump on the ground, Akane  
observed Ranma covering her eyes and shaking her head, and Nabiki  
shaking her whole body with barely restrained mirth.   
  
"And so gracefully done, too," Ranma observed mildly.  
  
"If you'd _told_ me I was on a fence _earlier_...."  
  
"You'd have fallen off earlier, ne? It's often the case that the body  
unconscious of its circumstances can do things it never could by the  
will of the mind alone, but you don't often see it that clearly," Ranma  
replied, still calmly. "And now, for your next trick, get back on the  
fence."  
  
"But, but, but ...."  
  
"_Up_!"  
  
Wobbling frantically, Akane attempted to keep her balance on the  
fencetop. Then she felt a pair of hands on her shoulders, steadying her  
balance. Ranma turned to Nabiki, "Please excuse us, Nabiki-san, and  
continue on to school. I see that I have some training to accomplish,  
but we'll be along shortly."  
  
Akane gulped, and commended herself to the protection of the Kami.   
  
"Now, Akane, first we walk," beginning to do so, "and then we run."  
  
Accelerating along the top of the fence, Ranma took a corner and left  
Nabiki behind, pushing Akane along before her.  
  
Akane observed the sharp-looking top of the fence vanishing beneath her  
and quavered, "Wh-what happens if I lose my balance?"  
  
"You get to do a split onto a sharp surface. This will hurt. A lot,"  
Ranma replied calmly. "I don't recommend it."   
  
"Oh, fine!" Akane mumbled.  
  
"And now we go faster."  
  
"Help."  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Returning to the straight track to Furinkan as they neared the school,  
Ranma and Akane caught up to Nabiki just before they reached the outer  
wall of the courtyard. Akane, Nabiki noted, was looking somewhat  
frazzled but bore no evidence of injury.   
  
Returning to the sidewalk, the two walked alongside Nabiki as they  
entered the schoolyard, only to run into a wall of semi-determined male  
silliness. Perhaps a dozen Furinkan students were lined up in the  
center of the yard, each bearing some form of combat implement. The  
leader bowed to Ranma and began to speak.  
  
Ranma raised an eyebrow and interrupted. "Let me guess. You lads have  
decided to go the formal challenge route."  
  
"Err ... yes," the leader said uncertainly.  
  
"Ah. Tell me," Ranma said, "have any of you gentlemen heard the story  
of the Hunter and the Bear?"  
  
General negation was expressed.  
  
Ahh. So. (said Ranma) It seems that once there was a man who  
was successful in all his business and in all his life.   
  
And he attributed his success to the fact that he treated his  
life and his business struggles as though they were hunts.  
And he proved his point by referring to the trophies that he  
had accumulated down the years he had hunted the valiant  
tiger, and the noble elephant, and the ferocious cow.   
  
Yet, alas, his life was incomplete, and he suffered sorely  
for the lack. For, despite all the beasts he had hunted and  
all the trophies he had taken, in all his life he had never  
hunted _Bear_.   
  
And so, one year in the summer of his life, when he had grown  
weary of the games he played, he summoned his managers and  
accountants and bade them take over all his enterprises and  
companies and investments, and to keep them safe and  
prosperous until it should again please him to exhibit his  
business acumen, and financial skill.   
  
And he gathered to himself, from the reserves of all his  
possessions, a great store of treasure, and he set himself to  
hunt _Bear_ and to gain himself a rug. Or, as it might be, a  
coat.  
  
And he bought a new and most excellent rifle, such as he was  
wont to use to take his prey. And he hired a famous hunting  
guide to teach him of all the _Bear's_ habits and customs.  
And he spent gold with a free hand to seek out all the  
information and rumors that could be found concerning his  
victim-to-be. And then he took ship for the far-away land  
where, it was said, _Bear_ was to be found.  
  
On arriving in that place he indulged in another week of  
riotous living, such as he had done on shipboard (and indeed,  
if the truth were to be told, all his life): drinking fine  
wines and liquors, romancing pretty, admiring, girls, eating  
gourmet meals, and boasting to all and sundry of the glory he  
was soon to win.   
  
Then he went into seclusion for a week, to listen to the  
efforts of the priests he had paid to pray for his success,  
and to watch the smoke rising from the sacrifices of the  
costly treasures he had purchased specifically to win the  
favor of the gods.   
  
And to drink only the finest of teas, made only from the  
purest of water hand carried from the mountain springs of its  
birth.   
  
And to eat only the newest and purest of rice, prepared by  
the finest of chefs, and topped only by the choicest of  
salted bream, and fugu, and squid from the deepest part of  
the ocean.   
  
And to spend much time in the hottest saunas, thinking pure  
thoughts, while pretty, naked, girls attended him, striking  
him on the back with birch branches to drive all impurities  
and poisons from his pores.   
  
And in various other such manners to strengthen his body, and  
to focus his mind, and to commend his success to all the  
relevant kami, and to call on the protection and good luck of  
all of his personal and family spirits, ghosts, fairies and  
tutelary dieties.  
  
And then, one morning, he picked up his weapon, and had a  
fine hunting lunch packed, and traveled forth into the wide  
world beyond the hunting lodge. He traveled to a secluded  
hide, above a descending slope which overlooked a brushy  
expanse of valley, where there were bushes of berries, and a  
swift flowing stream filled with fish. And where there was  
known to be _Bear_.   
  
And after he had waited for an hour or two, drinking the  
nourishing drink with which he was equipped and nibbling on  
the many snacks which had been provided in his bento, along  
the open space in the vale below him came that which he had  
journeyed so far and through such hardships to match himself  
against: a _Bear_.   
  
It was plodding unconcernedly along, eating berries from the  
bushes and considering, perhaps, a main course of fish.  
  
He observed it through the excellent telescopic sight on his  
rifle, sniffling a little at the sad fate that awaited such a  
magnificent specimen. Almost, almost, he abandoned his  
sniper's rest and descended to meet the great beast, to face  
it in hand-to-claw combat from a short distance, say 100  
yards or so, to be more sporting.   
  
But no, he hardened himself to pity and thought that if the  
beast had desired a sporting chance, it should have worked to  
make one, as he had. And he settled the sights on the broad  
shoulder displayed before him, and he nestled the stock  
gently into his shoulder, and he stroked the trigger, and the  
rifle barked its song of death.  
  
And below him, in the valley, the great _Bear_ shook its  
head, and stumbled, and fell, very slowly, to its side, and  
lay still ... dead.  
  
And he rose from the blind where he had waited, and observed  
the trophy below him, and saw in it all that he had worked  
for. And descended the slope before him, to claim it.   
  
Down he went, planning in his mind what he would do with the  
trophy so dearly won, and how it would be displayed. And he  
reached the bottom of the ridge, and broke through the brushy  
screen, and found there bushes full of berries, and a stream  
full of fish, but no _Bear_, nor corpse of _Bear_, and no  
sign that ever there had been one.  
  
Frantically now he cast about, searching for any clue as to  
where his trophy had gone, or who had taken it. And he strode  
forward into the middle of the vale, running to where he had  
seen the great carcass fall, but no carcass, nor sign of  
such, nor footprint, nor mark, nor any other trace of the  
great beast's presence did he find.   
  
And then something tapped him on the shoulder.  
  
And then he turned around.  
  
And there before him, rising up in majesty and wrath, with  
fur stained by the blood of its victims, with rolling eye and  
roaring growl, stood _Bear_. And its terrible claws were long  
and crusted with red. And its awful teeth were sharp and  
keen. And it towered over him like a cliff above a shaking  
mouse.   
  
And then his courage failed him, and he dropped his rifle,  
and waited tremblingly to die.  
  
And then he heard a voice, a terrible and growling voice, the  
voice of _Bear_! And it said, "Now lad, if y' wan' tae live,  
ye'll be droppin yer trousies and turnin aroun', an' I'll be  
performin' a disgustin' sexual act upon yer trembling bod!"   
  
And the man winced, and *yerked* and *yaaghed*, but the  
_Bear_ was terrible, and its claws were sharp, and so....   
  
And so he dropped his trousers, and turned around ... and  
that's it, that's all.   
  
_But_!   
  
Later, dragging back to the lodge, he resolved that he should  
leave his properties and investments in the hands of his  
managers and retire to a monastery, to mortify his flesh, and  
apologize to the gods for his pollution.   
  
But first, _first_ he would return to this place and destroy  
the _Bear_, and use its skin for a rug to sit on in the  
monastery, and to warm his backside as he begged for alms.  
And he would spend all his wealth and treasure, if necessary,  
to attain that end. After all, what use would it now be to  
him?   
  
And so he returned to his homeland by the fastest jet which  
was to be found in all that country, and he threw all the  
resources of his great empire into his one overriding goal.   
  
And he caused to be designed a rifle; a weapon so advanced  
that it could have destroyed a squadron of tanks in one  
burst. A weapon whose merest glancing blow would blow a hole  
three feet wide through battleship armor. A weapon which was  
so accurate that the veriest novice could use it to blow in  
half a fly three miles off, and hit both halves as they fell.   
  
And he trained with it, and hired the world's greatest  
marksman, and its most accomplished tracker, and its foremost  
animal scientist, all to explain to him, and to design a plan  
to bring the fearful beast to its end. And he gave them all  
they required, and built and strove as they said.  
  
And then, again in spring, he again traveled to that far-away  
land, and prayed and sacrificed, and took his weapon, and all  
his devices and schemes, and went forth to the ridge above  
the valley, to meet his nemesis again.   
  
And he set all his traps and devices in the valley below,  
disguising all his scent and sign, that the beast might not  
be disturbed in its progress.   
  
And again he took up a position in a hide on the ridge, and  
again he waited for the _Bear_.  
  
And again time passed, and again the _Bear_ came along the  
stream in the valley below.   
  
And again he sighted his weapon, but no pity or moment of  
grace stayed his hand this time!   
  
And again he stroked the trigger, and again the rifle roared.  
And all the traps, and nets, and devices activated, blew up  
or fired at once. And when the smoke had cleared the bruin  
lay, not merely killed, but torn into a thousand pieces,  
pierced, burned, strewn about the ground.   
  
And again he raced down the slope, and took his weapon with  
him. And he anticipated, as he ran, how he would dance upon  
the _Bear's_ carcass when he reached it, how he would make a  
common pillow from the largest scrap of its hide, how he  
would piss on the barren place where he would burn the rest  
of its rotten, stinking corpse.  
  
And again he reached the bottom of the ridge, and broke the  
line of the brush before the valley floor. And again he found  
there bushes full of berries, and a stream full of fish, but  
again he found no _Bear_.  
  
And again he searched the little valley, weapon held low and  
fierce before him, ready for any movement.  
  
And again something tapped him on the shoulder.  
  
And again he turned around.  
  
And again before him, rising up in terrible, monstrous form,  
with blood-stained fur, and flashing eye and thunderous  
growl, stood _Bear_. And its claws were long and sharp, and  
dripped with clotted gore. And its teeth were keen and  
clouded with the red tinged saliva that its twisting neck  
scattered near and far. And it towered above him and its dark  
shadow blinded him.   
  
And again his courage failed him, and again he dropped his  
weapon, and prayed for the death he once had feared.  
  
And again he heard the voice, a terrible voice of his shame,  
the voice of _Bear_! And it said, "Now lad, if it's tae live  
y' want, ye'll be bendin' doon, and openin' yer maw, and  
ye'll be performin' a disgustin' sexual act upon me!"  
  
And again he wailed, and prayed that the test might pass, but  
the _Bear_ was strong, and its terrible fangs dripped blood-  
tinged drool. And he wished for death, but not like that.   
  
And so, finally, he bent down, and ... and that's all, but  
later, again returning weeping to the lodge, he decided.  
  
Corrupt he was, and impure, and damned for a coward. He would  
endow monasteries and temples, he would give all his wealth  
to charity and good works, and then he would find some active  
volcano, and throw himself in, and remove his pollution from  
the circles of the world.  
  
But first, _first_, FIRST!   
  
Without fear, without possibility of failure, without  
reprieve.   
  
_The_   
  
_Bear_   
  
_Must_   
  
_Die!_  
  
And so he again returned to his homeland, and spent gold like  
water in his quest.   
  
He acquired the perfect rifle, the highest product of the  
world's best gunsmith's art.   
  
He went alone into the wilderness with his weapon and the  
collected wisdom of the world in regard to _Bears_, their  
habits, and all that related, or had ever related to them.   
  
And in the wilderness, in practice with the rifle, and the  
bear-spear, and in communion with all that the world knew of  
_Bear_, he planned and plotted and grew in skill, until he  
was, without question, the very best, most knowledgeable and  
most skillful hunter of _Bear_ that there had ever been.  
  
And then, in fall, when _Bears_ are fat and somnolent,  
_again_ he traveled to that land, and _again_ he prayed and  
sacrificed.   
  
And _again_ he took his rifle, and added to it his spear.   
  
And _again_ he went forth to the ridge above the valley.   
  
And _again_ he took up a position in a blind on the ridge.   
  
And _again_ he waited. He waited for the _Bear_.  
  
And _again_ time passed, and _again_ the _Bear_ came along  
the stream in the valley below.   
  
And _again_ he sighted his weapon, and _again_ he stroked the  
trigger, and _again_ the rifle sang.   
  
And _again_ the missile flew straight, and struck its target  
directly on.   
  
And _again_ the great head shook, and _again_ the great legs  
stumbled, and _again_ the great beast fell.  
  
And _again_ he raced down the slope, and _again_ he took his  
his rifle, and also he took his spear.   
  
And _again_ he reached the bottom of the ridge, and _again_  
he broke the line of the brush before the valley floor.   
  
And _again_ he found there bushes full of berries, and  
_again_ he found a stream full of fish.   
  
And _again_ he found no _Bear_.  
  
And _again_ he scanned the valley, _again_ he searched and  
stared.  
  
And _again_ something tapped him on the shoulder.  
  
And _again_ he turned around.  
  
And _again_ before him, stood the _Bear_, and _again_ its  
claws were long and sharp, and _again_ its teeth were keen.  
  
And _again_ its mouth dripped bloody drool, and _again_ it  
towered above him and _again_ its dark shadow blinded him.  
  
And _again_ his courage failed him, and _again_ he dropped  
his weapons, and _again_ he prayed for the death knew he  
would not find.  
  
And _again_ he heard the voice, the terrible voice of _Bear_!  
  
And it said, "Now lad, tell th' truth. Ye didnae come here  
frae the huntin', did ye?"  
  
Ranma's voice on the last question had become soft and gentle. And she  
looked upon the white-faced boys huddling before her, and bestowed on  
them a smile. A gentle smile. A kind and sweet smile. An angelic smile.  
  
And the last remnant of the Fight at Furinkan, pale and shaking, turned  
away from the terrible figure they had sought to challenge. And  
stumbled weeping up the steps, and divided themselves among their  
several classes, where they sat huddled and still all the rest of the  
day. And where no-one spoke of the story, or of the Fight. Not that  
day, nor for a long time to come.  
  
And Ranma and Akane, arms linked, and voices rising to the clear blue  
sky, walked up the stairs behind them, singing.  
  
When he was fast asleep, hey do me harity  
When he was fast asleep, me being young,  
When he was fast asleep, I from his side did creep,  
Into the arms of a handsome young man!  
  
Now he's got Faloorum, Faleerum, Fallorum,  
Now he's got Fallorum, Faleerum, Falaay!  
Now he's got Fallorum, he's got a Ding-Doorum,  
Maids, when you're young, never wed an old man!  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
She had woken with the new day and prepared for school. Then she had  
gone to the room where the puppy had slept, to see its progress for  
herself. Now she knew, she had made a mistake, a dreadful mistake, the  
previous day. Now, she knew, she must be brave, and even bravery would  
do no good for her. But it still might serve another.   
  
And so she clutched the twisted, claw-like hand that held her throat  
with both her own.   
  
And so she looked up into the eyes, burning with a green internal fire,  
of the seven-foot, near skeletal, black-robed figure that held her  
fast.   
  
And so she saw the twisted, part wolf, part fox, part feline, all  
terrible face of the being before her, and recognized in it the remnant  
of the puppy she had found.  
  
And so she heard it ask, in a horrible, pain-wracked voice, as twisted  
as itself, for information about _Ranma_.   
  
And so she was brave, and made no sound.   
  
And she heard the horrified shriek, and saw, through a sudden twilight,  
her mother standing in the doorway, aghast.   
  
And then the night came down.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma & Akane: A Love Story.   
Chapter 3: The Third Day  
Part B: Storming the Wall: A Game of Wolf and Dragon  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Koriko Nagao was having what he could unqualifiedly describe as the  
worst day of his life. He had been humiliated and dishonored and  
disgraced, he thought greyly.   
  
It had been bad enough before, when that horrible barbarian had  
terrified all the males of Furinkan on the first day. It had been  
unendurable when he had been seduced by his own rage into joining the  
attempted attack that had ended so humiliatingly on the second. Or he  
had thought it had been unendurable anyway. Now he knew better what  
'unendurable' meant.   
  
Then they had only laughed at him to his face. Only snickered at him  
behind his back. Only looked with disgust at a stalwart of the Kendo  
Club. Only tittered at the distress of a champion of the school. Only  
sniggered at the nakedness and humiliation of a descendant of samurai.  
Only that, then.   
  
And so he had called together the other stalwarts, the only remaining  
bastions of Furinkan tradition. Even their leader had deserted them,  
the noble Kuno Tatewaki injured in spirit and plunged into depression  
by the beating administered by That Horrible Girl. They were alone now,  
but they would uphold tradition and honor as they saw it.  
  
And so they had analyzed. Dissected available data. Consulted the  
authorities. And realized, to their horror and shame, that they, _they_  
_themselves_ had largely been to blame.   
  
Error had crept in to the ways of Furinkan. They had turned from the  
path of honor, and they had rightly suffered for it. Engaging in mass  
attacks on a single warrior in a matter of honor. Attempting an ambush.  
Hiding like cowards. Following a mongrel dog to avenge themselves on  
one who had merely acted in defense of another.   
  
Finally they had turned to look at themselves and seen what they had  
become. Worse, they realized, they had led others into error, as well.  
All of the male students of Furinkan had eventually joined in the Fight  
For Akane's Heart. All were now tarred with the same brush, with the  
same stain, as they.  
  
They must atone, they realized. They must immediately place their  
straying feet back on the path of honor. But how to do so?   
  
There was only one choice, he had argued. They had begun as warriors,  
as samurai in a sense, albeit, he now realized, badly misguided ones.  
They must mend their honor the same way.   
  
Yet simple seppuku would not do, for the old ways were no longer  
honored as once they had been. They would not be seen, many said, as  
cleansing themselves from stain; but rather as overly-emotional  
children, even as misguided fools.   
  
And what else were they, some wag had remarked, bitterly. Some, another  
said, would even believe that they were running, unwilling to face up  
to their shame.   
  
No, he had argued persuasively, they must seek a confrontation instead.  
They must challenge Ranma-san directly, one by one; in the broad light  
of day, and not hiding behind walls; and only after they recovered from  
the destruction she would surely and deservedly work upon them would  
their honor be capable of being restored.   
  
'And,' he thought, 'in such a combat, with weapon in hand, it would  
surely not be difficult to require Ranma-san to use lethal force in her  
own defense.' Thus ending the life he now felt too dishonored to  
endure, without drawing down censure on anyone.  
  
So he had thought, but he had been wrong. They had challenged, or  
attempted to challenge, at least, but she had not responded with blows  
but rather with words. With a story; 'A morality tale,' he winced  
mentally, and with that story she had not merely defeated them; she had  
destroyed them.   
  
He had returned to his classroom dreading the looks of anger and  
disgust he knew he would see on the inhabitants thereof. But instead he  
had seen something worse. Much worse. He had looked sideways at their  
dutiful faces as the Sensei called the roll, and there he had surprised  
an emotion more terrible than anything he had ever seen, even in his  
darkest nightmare: the emotion of pity.   
  
Pity and condescension, as though his humiliation was only to be  
expected. Worse even than this, _un_concern, as though his shame was  
not even worthy of consideration. As though _he_ was not worthy of  
consideration. As though he were nothing.  
  
He had answered the roll without conscious thought, hearing without  
observing the information that one of his female class-members was  
unexpectedly absent. He had not even dared to look at Ranma, where she  
sat midway back in the class; he did not wish to see what expression  
she wore. He had excused himself immediately, pleading a call of  
nature; they would surely snicker, but he could not bring himself to  
care. He had almost fled the building, and now huddled in dread by the  
outer wall, just by the gates.   
  
Huddled there in dread, for he knew he could not evade classes, and  
those dreadful, pitying, unconcerned faces forever. And observed the  
approach to the school gates of what seemed, to his in-looking eyes, to  
be one of Furinkan's schoolgirls. Perhaps it was Asano-san he mused,  
dully. He must pull himself together in front of his classmate. She had  
not heard of his humiliation yet; he must put off that hearing, for a  
moment at least.   
  
Almost restoring his features to normalcy he turned to face her and  
welcome her to school. And heard her ask him a question, a question  
which he did not register.   
  
That voice! That pain-wracked, twisted, voice never belonged to  
Asano-san! What?   
  
And he observed a fog clear from his sight. And he saw the towering,  
black-robed, demonic figure replace his classmate as if by magic, still  
clutching her briefcase in one twisted claw, but bearing a great, cruel  
bladed Yari in the other. And he saw the bestial wolf-like figure snarl  
at him. And raise its spear as he seemed to freeze, mired in some  
clinging substance that weighed down his limbs.   
  
And then the twilight fell, and Koriko Nagao saw through dimming vision  
the spear-shaft extending from his chest retract, its broad head's  
bright sheen dimmed by scarlet lifeblood. And realized that he had been  
granted the escape from shame that he had sought, before the night  
claimed him utterly.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma and Akane had been slightly concerned for Sayuri when it was  
discovered that she was not in school that day. Yuka, however, had  
volunteered the information that she had gotten home from her date  
somewhat late last night, and furthermore that she had found a puppy.  
So it was decided that she must simply have overslept, or possibly  
caught some type of bug, and would be gently teased about it when she  
finally dragged in.  
  
Then the studious peace of Furinkan was broken by a scream. A piercing,  
terrible scream. It came from one of the classrooms on the front side  
of the first floor , and was followed by a muffled shout that brought  
Ranma out of her startlement, with a shocked oath that split plaster at  
30 feet, and out the door in a dead run.   
  
Akane followed after her, dreading whatever had disturbed her sensei,  
and reached the bottom of the stairs in time to see Ranma wave her hand  
in a complex pattern -- outer fingers vee-ed and inners curling -- at  
the wall of one classroom, which promptly exploded into dust.   
  
Akane gasped and choked on the swirling dust, straining to see into the  
opened room. Ranma, however, suffered no such difficulty, snap- drawing  
Tenchuu in a classic Iado cut at the dark-robed bulk that suddenly  
lunged at her, trailing a scarlet stream of blood drops from its  
outstretched spear-blade.  
  
Ranma pivoted like a matador, sending the lunging demon-wolf past her  
with a tortured, wordless howl. Tenchuu blurred as it passed, striking  
deep more than a hundred times with a sound like a deep-tolling bell,  
and Ranma snarled a name: "Jei!"   
  
Akane gasped in shock as the hurtling spear-blade bore down on her, and  
saved herself from impalement only by a desperate sideways twist  
propelled by the impetus of a side snap-kick, which slammed into the  
injured side, spraying blood and fur from the cuts Ranma's attack had  
left. Akane saw with a strange, singing clarity as she shoulder-rolled  
off the floor; everything seemed to be outlined, thrown into sharp  
relief so that her racing mind could clearly distinguish between what  
was important, and what was not.   
  
Important, for example, were the injuries to the wolf- demon's side,  
healing as she watched, the flesh flowing and squirming back into  
proper shape. Also important was the howling ki aura building up around  
Ranma and flowing down her sword, and Akane abandoned reflection and  
achieved the state of avoidance.  
  
Ranma held on to the howling, snarling ki-force with a leash of sheer  
willpower, quickly enjoining it to build in a circling tubular  
onion-like structure, each thin inner layer of force spinning in  
counter- rotation to the next, burning lightning and destructive wind  
vortices building rapidly to an uncontainable level from the internal  
dissonance and friction of the whole structure.   
  
The task, for her, was strenuous but not especially challenging; she  
was much stronger then the last time she had called the Dragon Wind in  
earnest, and farther advanced down the paths of breath and spirit as  
well. Now, calling on her full power, Ranma held what she knew was the  
most powerful attack she had ever performed until Jei had stabilized  
himself enough to be rooted. Until he had placed himself fully in the  
path of destruction, yet removed his ability to dodge it. Then she  
released its bonds, and called it to battle by name. "Ryuukaze!"  
  
A corona of blue-white lightning struck inward toward Ranma's aura,  
crackling towards her body and hands like a berserk, inverted Van de  
Graaff generator. St. Elmo's fire of red and neon blue played all about  
her, illuminated the swirling storm wind that gathered about her hands  
where they clenched around Tenchuu's hilt, swept down Tenchuu's blade  
and launched itself as a horizontal tornado that sped irresistibly  
across the twenty foot space to Jei's back.   
  
A flaming, thundering tide of lightning rode the wind, outlining its  
passage with crackling, neon light. At its tip a vortex of the storm,  
wind powerful enough to crumble diamond or shred titanium alloy like  
wet cardboard, formed a dragon's head; filled with the heart of the  
lightning and drawing the tornado behind it as the head draws the body,  
wings and claws following after. As it passed it drew up debris and  
shredded floor-tiles into itself, their component particles joining its  
destructive force; and on Ranma's chest, underneath her shirt and wrap,  
the dragon threw back her head -- and roared.   
  
Ranma watched with fleeting satisfaction as an unstoppable tide of pure  
destruction hit Jei squarely in the back -- and accomplished precisely  
nothing. 'Oh, _shit_! He learned to shield!' She hurled herself across  
the separating space between them, shifting her sight to the mode she  
used to analyze a structure of magic, and slipped fully munen muso,  
into zanshin mind-no-mind.  
  
Jei spun towards his attacker, keeping his attention focused on her  
ki-force, and beginning a triumphant snarl.   
  
Ranma sliced past him in a rush, Tenchuu burning through his stomach  
and out his back, severing his spine. Ranma spun around Jei, hand, feet  
and sword flickering, testing his defenses and ki in a whirlwind too  
fast for even Jei's boosted senses to track, but also too fast to do  
any lasting damage, the minor wounds healing even as they were made.   
  
At last, having discovered as much as she could, Ranma flashed to a  
position straddling Jei's neck, one foot bracing against his back as  
the other leg curled around his throat. A convulsive twist of Ranma's  
body broke even Jei's inhumanly strong neck; and sent her off his  
shoulders to bounce off the wall behind him, curling her legs against  
her chest and storing power in them.   
  
Then she exploded away from the wall, into his back; her sword flashed  
around to sever his head entirely as she built a tornado-strength  
shield of wind behind and around her body and uncurled into Jei's back.  
The force of her ki-charged shove shattered every bone in his spine and  
propelled him violently across forty yards of open air, through and out  
of the classroom he had been destroying originally, and into Furinkan's  
yard.   
  
A lash of green energy erupted from his severed neck as he passed,  
joining the severed stump of his neck to his bouncing, discarded head;  
drawing the latter after it with a shriek of rage and pain that would  
have shattered all the windows on Furinkan's front side, had there been  
any undestroyed to that point. Which there weren't.   
  
Impacting the ground violently and being propelled into a tumbling  
roll, Jei progressed down the yard with a series of cracking and  
ripping noises, landing on his feet and healing all his wounds with a  
sustained wet crackle that ended as his head slammed home atop his neck  
and knit together again with a squelch that would probably have been  
exceedingly disgusting had anyone been paying attention to it.   
  
Ranma leaped through the destroyed classroom, absently noting the  
carnage within, and landed just outside what had been Furinkan's outer  
wall. "Jei-san. I see you have gained in prowess since the last time I  
killed you."  
  
The storm-loud cackle of mad laughter that erupted from Jei seemed to  
provide any answer that might be necessary, but he continued anyway.  
"Fool, I cannot be killed! I am the champion of the Gods, and they have  
given me new power for the holy task of destroying you and all your  
works, utterly!"   
  
A green ball of fire suddenly filled his hand. "Now, prepare to die!"  
he screamed as he threw it at Ranma. She batted it aside without  
expression, unmoving as it spattered twenty feet of Furinkan's front  
wall with a clinging emerald flame that corroded stone, glass and wood  
alike.  
  
Ranma again drew in her power and answered Jei's challenge with a bolt  
of lightning. "Gekirin no Ryuu!" The thunderclap that followed the  
lightning's ineffectual explosion off Jei's shield fixed his attention  
firmly on Ranma herself, and allowed Akane to shoo several panicking  
students up the stairs to (presumed) safety, while she herself ran to  
the destroyed classroom to see what help she might give.   
  
Upon jumping the low sill left by the destroyed wall, she landed in a  
warm, sticky pool and went to one knee; looking around in disbelieving  
horror she found that the answer was: none. At least a dozen bodies  
littered the floor and desks of the violated room. Most were in pieces  
no larger than half a torso, but all were clearly dead, and the still,  
brooding air hung heavy with the iron tang of fresh blood, and the  
sewer stench of released bowels, overlain by the visceral, sour-sweet  
smell of human death.   
  
The combination went straight to her hindbrain and forced her, gagging,  
to her hands and knees. Her eyes widened in shock, and she scrambled to  
her feet, frantically wiping her hands on her pants as she realized  
what she had landed _in_. She gasped and then determinedly looked away  
from the carnage around her, out across the field to, and then past,  
the looming figure of the seven-foot tall wolf-demon, to where several  
panicked students, nearly mindless with fear, huddled against the  
outside wall of the schoolyard.  
  
Akane lunged out of the destroyed wall section, snatching at the  
central pillar of an overturned desk in passing, and ran across the  
field, yelling desperately for the students to run behind her, and away  
from the demonic spear-wolf. As she passed directly in line with Jei,  
she hurled the desk across the separating distance, smashing him dead  
on and hurling him into the wall.   
  
Unfortunately, however, one of the students, who had heard her call and  
started to run across to her, was on the wrong side. Thus, when Jei  
smashed into the wall, said student was less than three feet from the  
impact and, startled and unable to stop, ran directly into the towering  
figure as he clawed his way from the rubble of the wall.   
  
Jei's hand lashed out and closed on the hapless student's neck even as  
Ranma and Akane both lunged towards the tableaux, and the terrible,  
bloodied spear flashed back for a death-stroke. Akane, was close enough  
to arrive in time and simply shoulder-tackled Jei, breaking his hold on  
the student, and driving them both apart and into the wall.   
  
Jei rebounded with a snarl, driving his spear at Akane's unprotected  
back as she turned to sent the boy she had protected to safety on her  
off side. Then Ranma flashed into range, sending Tenchuu smashing into  
the shaft of the spear. But the shaft rebounded the sword-strike, to  
her distant shock, and Jei's instant counter flung Ranma back a dozen  
yards, rotating in mid-air and looking for a landing place.   
  
Akane sent her charge toward safety with a massive shove and began to  
turn at bay. Too late: the spearhead would pierce her before she could  
evade, she saw distantly. Which was why the black, metallic ribbon that  
flashed out of nowhere and tugged the spear-shaft far enough aside to  
miss and plow into the wall, instead of Akane, came as a complete shock  
to everyone.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Kuno Kodachi had hidden in the shadows beside the wall of Furinkan and  
observed the events of the morning. She was especially concerned with  
finding out who had so injured her brother, but since he had told her  
none of the details, she kept a look-out for anything unusual.   
  
The shortish redhead with the aura of power almost visible to the naked  
eye was certainly unusual, she felt.  
  
Furthermore, her brother had not mentioned her even in passing, as he  
surely would have under normal circumstances, and she was in the  
company of another girl, whom Kodachi recognized as the "Beauteous  
Tiger" of her brother's fevered ranting, Tendo Akane, albeit much  
altered from the frumpy girl she had remembered from the last time she  
had seen her.  
  
This was, she thought, suggestive, and she had been engaged in  
attempting to locate the girl within the building when the screams and  
explosions had informed her that matters were becoming very odd and  
dangerous indeed. She had left the building by a convenient window and  
jumped into the trees, through which she had moved to a position just  
over the confrontation by the wall, observing the battle in awe. Seeing  
Akane's peril, she saw also an opportunity to intervene -- and prove  
her own battle-worth in a theater of the utmost truth -- and had  
intercepted the demon's spear with her ribbon.  
  
Jei's counter pull of the shaft had ripped her from the tree and  
several yards further into the schoolyard, but she had anticipated  
this, and landed with all the grace of her gymnastic art, then turned  
and began to unleash a peroration that would surely stop the monster in  
its tracks and lead directly to its defeat. "Hold, monster! For now  
..."   
  
Ranma rebounded in mid-air and turned to the attack as Jei took the  
opportunity to dispose of at least one opponent and struck directly for  
Akane's heart.  
  
"... you face the wrath ..."  
  
Akane declined to be spitted and counterattacked before Jei could drive  
home his spear, catching the spear-shaft just behind the head with the  
odd speed she suddenly seemed to have acquired, and putting a circle  
kick from the hip into Jei's mid-section.  
  
"... of the Black Rose ..."  
  
Jei was driven back by the kick, and Ranma altered her trajectory to  
track him as he stumbled into range of Kodachi, and felt that one foe  
was as good as another.  
  
" ...Ugghkk." Kodachi gasped, as her speech was rudely interrupted by  
the butt of Jei's spear driving past her defense to slam into her  
midriff, tearing her leotard and breaking several ribs.   
  
The but was followed by the spearhead, rotating like a fan blade as Jei  
drove it in an arc that would have torn through her heart, while  
gathering a sickly luminescent fox-fire to his off hand. Would have,  
except for Ranma's fall from the heavens, to cut through Jei's arm,  
severing it briefly and reducing the wound to a three inch deep cut  
across and through several ribs and deeply into the muscle of her left  
arm. The fireball that followed as Jei fell away from Ranma's strike  
spattered across Kodachi regardless of Ranma's swatting, ki-charged  
hand, and she fell backwards, crippled, bleeding and aflame.   
  
Some distance away, a young man who had been engaged in the occupation  
of shepherding students away from the fight looked up, and ran to her  
side with a shriek of rage and pain, "Sister! No!"   
  
Jei regained his feet with a snarl, but Ranma had seen enough. She had  
the measure of his defense now, and it only remained to accomplish the  
attack that would destroy him. She kept him on the defensive with a  
barrage of mini- lightning bolts as she closed, followed by a  
blistering exchange of fists, feet, spear strokes and sword blows that  
maneuvered Jei into the position she wanted.  
  
Tatewaki reached his sister's side just as Ranma put Jei in the  
position she wanted him in. "_NOW_ Akane," she roared.   
  
And Akane, seeing her chance, snatched up the central pillar, now  
detached, of the desk she had previously used, and charged into Jei's  
back, using the pillar as an improvised club. An attack that was fully  
successful in all ways except one: she got the angle to hit him at  
slightly wrong.   
  
Jei did not fly in the direction Ranma had wanted, nor did he go as  
far, and Ranma altered direction again, on the ground this time, as  
Tatewaki reacted to the presence of the beast that had wounded his  
sister with the beginnings of the best attack he could muster, his  
bokken blurring in the air. "Dadadadadadadadadada"   
  
Jei, of course, ignored the attack, bringing the shaft of his spear  
over his head and down onto Tatewaki, sending the bokken from his hand  
and dropping him, stunned, across his sister's body. Akane followed up  
her original attack before he could reverse and use the blade, shoving  
him forcefully a couple of feet away, and following up to grab the  
fallen bokken as she sprawled across the pile of Kunos.   
  
She turned over desperately, bringing the bokken around to block the  
descending spear-point away so that it thudded into the dirt beside  
her, and then continuing with the only attack she could muster from her  
position flat on her back on the ground. An attack that she knew was  
inadequate, possessing as she did only the mediocre skill gained by her  
desultory studies previously and one day of Ranma's instruction. An  
attack that was, nonetheless, the only thing she had.   
  
A kick straight up, with all the force that was in her, past Jei's  
defense and into his groin. It lifted him up six inches, to a roar of  
shock and hate; forced his hands up, locked around the spear-shaft for  
the downward, unstoppable strike that would skewer her, Tatewaki and  
Kodachi all three; and gave Ranma one single, unobserved, unoccupied  
second.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
It was enough.   
  
A roaring wind blew Jei away from the sprawled pile, as Ranma smashed  
into him. A hail of sword blows from all angles taxed his regenerative  
capabilities and eroded the defense of his ki-shield. A simultaneous  
flurry of ki-charged one-finger strikes pelted him, whirling him around  
and around and setting his ki to boiling heat, as Ranma sent herself  
into a countering circle, matching his spin and dropping her ki to  
freezing before she called the wind again.   
  
"Hiryuu. Shouten. Haaa!"   
  
The Rising Dragon Ascension Strike flamed inward from a circle ten  
yards across and lifted Jei in a roaring cyclone into the sky. Ranma  
followed after, riding the wind that was Jei's enemy, returning Tenchuu  
to her jacket with a snap and drawing a phurba of meteoric iron. This  
she threw straight upward, through Jei's abdomen, and sent the  
lightning of the storm after it, upward from the ground to the dagger's  
place at the apex of the cyclone, damaging Jei past the momentary  
limits of his regeneration and removing half of his remaining shield.   
  
Ranma herself rode the lightning-charged storm-wind upward, speeding  
past Jei to the top of the funnel-cloud; catching the dagger as it  
peaked above Jei's form, momentarily held in equilibrium between wind  
and gravity. And then Ranma called the wind up into a vortex just above  
the previous apex of the storm and let Jei fall.   
  
She followed his descent with another throw of the phurba, again  
striking through Jei's body, to thud into the ground far below, again  
followed by the fury of the storm, shredding the rest of Jei's shield  
and wounding him deeply.  
  
Jei snarled hatred and snapped his spear around to guard. Ranma could  
not now put another missile past his guard, and to injure him again she  
must go down, and thus into his range. And then Ranma played her trump  
card, pulling from Jacket-space a weapon that Jei could only vaguely  
place. Some kind of one-hand arquebus, he thought, but surely too small  
to ....   
  
The IMI Desert Eagle .50AE automatic pistol has been called many things  
in the world of things that go boom.   
  
Too small has rarely been among them.   
  
A *CHK-Klack* announced that Ranma's invisibly fast hands had racked  
the slide. And then the enormous pistol roared, and the recoil hammered  
at Ranma's solid grip.   
  
And once again the World's Biggest Handgun proved itself adequate to  
the task. Just.  
  
Eight times it spoke and eight bullets flew; each jacketed, solid core  
hollow point missile carrying, locked to the iron spike at the core of  
its leaden mass, as much of Ranma's ki as she could shove into it while  
pulling the trigger.   
  
Each packet of ki was dedicated to the goal of expanding its bullet  
explosively just before it entered Jei's body and then holding the lead  
and iron in a specific shape during its passage, regardless of the  
impedance of flesh or bone. Each packet achieved its goal exactly,  
punching eight holes in the spear-wolf's body; each in the shape of an  
ideograph in a scholar's shorthand of ancient China.   
  
Eight ideographs relating a saying about men, and butterflies, and the  
difficulty of telling the difference. Eight ideographs arranged on  
Jei's torso in a pattern tracing out another ideograph in that same  
ancient hand; the ideograph called 'Final Emptiness'. The whole  
assemblage of ideographs forming a spell of dispersal, scattering Jei's  
energy, dispersing his shield, and damaging his soul.  
  
Ranma allowed Jei to fall almost to the ground before using the iron  
dagger half-buried in the ground below him to receive the remaining  
energy of her storm in one titanic bolt of fury, earthing itself  
through Jei's fatally wounded body and knocking the spear sprawling  
from his hand at last.   
  
She herself landed about ten feet away from, and behind, Jei -- now  
standing in a wide crater and frantically reaching for enough power to  
regenerate his broken body -- and snapped Tenchuu from its resting  
place again, sending power through it and waking it to furious, burning  
life.  
  
Then Ranma jumped backwards, past Jei again, Tenchuu flashing. She  
carved another ideogram through his entire body with her sword: two  
inward curving lines, each continuing from its bottom up into a  
crossing loop, forming a symbol not unlike a "W" with a loop extending  
above the middle point. Then continuing in a single motion over the top  
of the outer points, closing the curve and leaving only the central  
loop above it.  
  
Ranma landed in front of Jei at a distance of no more than three feet.  
Jei, incapable of movement and with all his defenses down, could only  
watch Ranma's cool emotionless face as she drew back her sword. And  
then she struck - straight through the center of the ideogram she had  
cut into his flesh - and also straight through his heart.  
  
Jei exploded into a towering pillar of flame, and Ranma withdrew her  
sword and re-sheathed it, waiting. The flame burned itself out in  
moments, revealing the various limbs and pieces of his torso falling to  
earth, smeared with an odd, green, burnt looking ichor; and a wide-  
winged butterfly of an evil green hue, hanging where the ideogram had  
been, sending up a high pitched, wailing keen, and burning. Ranma  
swatted it from the air with a ki-sheathed hand, and ground it  
underfoot.  
  
Then Ranma returned from zanshin, and called a slow, pulsing fire to  
her hand. "Come back from _that_, you pustule on the backside of  
divinity," she snarled bitterly, using pulses of the flame to burn the  
corpse of the butterfly to ash, and set the remaining pieces of Jei's  
corpse afire.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Akane was just struggling to her feet again as Ranma turned from the  
evilly smoking fires. She was aching, burnt, scratched in several  
places, bore more bruises, scrapes and minor cuts than she could bear  
to think about, and the only thing she wanted was for Ranma to tell her  
that it was over. Ranma pulled her into a brief, hard hug and  
whispered, "You did great, Akane-chan!"  
  
Ranma thumped her briefly on the shoulder and let her go, grinning at  
her widely for a moment. Then Ranma turned to the gate of Furinkan,  
walking over to check on the body there, and Akane bent down again to  
help Kodachi and Tatewaki.  
  
Ranma came to Nagao's body, and knelt down. She could easily see that  
he was dead, but she used ki-sight anyway, to make sure. Then she  
gently closed his staring eyes, and stood up looking over at the gate  
to see what she had noticed from the corner of her eye. It was a  
briefcase, which she picked up, examined, and then quickly brought over  
to Akane, who was standing next to the Kunos and talking to Nabiki, who  
had summoned medical and police units to the school.  
  
"What's wrong, Ranma?" Akane noted her friend's grim expression. Ranma  
held up the case, so Akane could see what was written there: Asano, S.,  
and an address. Akane's eyes went wide in horror.  
  
"Do you know where this is, Akane-chan?" And at her nod, "Then I think,  
Nabiki, that you should call aid to that address, too. And I think that  
Akane and I should go there now, as well. And I think that we should  
run."  
  
Akane nodded jerkily and ran toward the gate, waving her hand toward  
Sayuri's distant house. "She's over that way, Ranma. But the fastest  
way there is...."  
  
She was interrupted by the feeling of arms around her waist, and jerked  
into the sky. Landing on the roof in the appropriate direction Ranma  
flowed into a smooth run, leaping gaps in the roof line with focused  
unconcern. Akane followed, gulping in trepidation at the gaps she would  
have to jump, but making no protest.  
  
Across Nerima they traveled in leaps and bounds, Akane leading Ranma  
across the roof-tops in as straight a line as she could, bypassing the  
traffic on the crowded streets below. Shortly, they heard the rising  
wail of sirens, and Ranma suddenly snarled an oath. "I can feel it now  
unblocked, Akane-chan, I've gotta hurry," she snapped out, before  
blurring into a red and black streak.  
  
Akane followed as quickly as she could and reached the roof line over  
Sayuri's house to find Ranma picking herself up from the ground,  
smoking slightly, and a dozen paramedics charging the door. "Wait,"  
Ranma roared uselessly, "the bloody thing's ...." The paramedics hit  
the door and were thrown back, injured, by a burst of green fire. "...  
warded. Damn!"  
  
Akane jumped down, as Ranma snapped back to her feet and stalked  
forward, snarling, "Get _back_ you fools, there's magic here!"   
  
Ranma jogged up to the door and raised her hand, ki coalescing around  
it in an in-drawing vortex. She thrust her hand forward in the same  
gesture she had used earlier, outer fingers vee-ed and inners curling,  
and burned a circle of green fire into the air before the doorway.   
  
The door collapsed into dust as the circle of fire exploded around the  
house, blowing everyone in a block's radius except those behind Ranma  
flat to the ground.   
  
The door vanished, and Ranma strode forward, hand at her side, ki still  
gathered. Akane followed after, as did those paramedics and police  
still on their feet. The darkness within shifted like a living thing,  
snarling and drawing down, choking. Ranma pulsed ki to her hand,  
drawing the dark close about it, and then shifted an internal polarity,  
and expressed the ki of the vortex she had generated as sunlight.   
  
A brilliant flash of light destroyed the darkness, burning down its  
resistance and banishing it with a fading wail. Ranma glided into the  
house; glancing at the older woman laying in the doorway with a broad  
spear mark through her outer chest she left the body to others and went  
directly to the small body laying nearly hidden in another room.   
  
Kneeling down, she checked Sayuri's ki with a sinking heart, but then  
snapped her head upward to Akane with burning but worried eyes. "She's  
still alive! But she's not breathing, and she's fading fast! Get help,  
and I'll try to call her back."  
  
Akane spun and ran to the other part of the house, to fetch a medic,  
and Ranma gathered all the ki she could at short notice, then struck  
one hand downward toward Sayuri's chest; her aura flaming into new life  
as it went, ki curling about it ready to call the body beneath her back  
to life ....  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma and Akane: A Love Story  
Chapter 3: The Third Day  
Part C: Pursuit to Destruction; East Wind, Rain.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Kodachi had been taken away in an ambulance, only one of many that day.  
Nabiki and Yuka were assisting the doctors that were dealing with the  
last of the students injured by flying debris. Both had done yeoman  
service to triage the wounded and traumatized, and in running errands  
for the medical effort that had, by now, sucked in every available  
doctor or medtech in Nerima ward.   
  
Nabiki had been especially active in calming and restraining those who  
had been injured most severely while the medics tended to them;  
extracting debris from their injuries, or hastily bandaging wounds and  
setting limbs in preparation for their transportation to local  
hospitals.   
  
Currently, the two girls were aiding Dr. Tofu by handing him his  
supplies and tools while he aligned and set a number of broken ribs  
belonging to a sophomore who had been trampled and kicked into a corner  
in class 1-D's mad scramble to quit the ground floor during the attack.   
  
Nabiki looked up from the last patient as that unfortunate was loaded  
onto a stretcher for transport. A very bedraggled looking Akane was  
dragging into Furinkan's yard, wobbling along behind Ranma, who herself  
appeared less than entirely perky.   
  
The two martial artists came over to where Nabiki was standing, Ranma  
greeting her wearily while Akane stopped walking and leaned against  
Ranma's shoulder, closing her eyes.  
  
"Nabiki-san," Ranma opened the conversation in a tired voice, "I see  
that you're helping with the wounded. Can you give me an estimate of  
the total casualty list, please?"  
  
Nabiki rubbed her eyes with blood-stained hands. "I don't know the full  
list yet, Ranma-san. The last I'd heard there were seventeen confirmed  
dead. I think the total of seriously injured is going to stop at 40.  
Minor injuries and, err, _mental_ trauma ...." Nabiki turned to where a  
clump of pale, shaking students were huddling against the wall, seeking  
comfort in numbers, and shrugged helplessly.  
  
Ranma nodded wearily. "You can add two more to the seriously wounded  
list then. Asano-bodou was stabbed in the chest by Our Friend, but he  
seems to have missed the heart, and the medics said she has a fair  
chance. Sayuri-chan was strangled, and while she's still alive she  
seems to be in a deep coma, at the moment."  
  
Nabiki glanced sideways at Yuka, who was trembling and clenching her  
hands together. Quietly, she asked, "Will she survive, long term, do  
you think?"  
  
Ranma rubbed her temples briefly. "There's no good reason why she  
wouldn't, I think. The physical trauma doesn't seem to be too severe.  
What mental trauma she may be suffering, and when she'll wake up...."  
Ranma shrugged in her own turn.  
  
Yuka wailed and buried her face in Nabiki's shoulder. Nabiki awkwardly  
attempted to comfort her and Ranma put a hand on Yuka's shoulder,  
saying, "Don't give up hope Yuka-chan. Sayuri-chan is very brave, and  
the hospital hasn't even begun to care for her yet. And I'm not out of  
resources myself, for that matter. But I think, for now, that it's  
better to let the professionals handle things.   
  
"And speaking of _things_, Nabiki, do you know what happened to Jei's  
corpse and his spear?"   
  
"I just saw ..." Nabiki mumbled, "Oh yes! A police van came, gathered  
it all up and took it away. And I'm just as glad; even dead that thing  
gave me a creepy feeling!"  
  
"I don't blame you at all Nabiki-san. I just wanted a closer look at  
the spear, but I suppose that I can do that later." She turned her hand  
under her gaze and considered the ichor crusted under the nails. "I'd  
like to get clean first, at least. Do you think you're going to need  
Akane or I around here any more today?"  
  
"No, Ranma, I don't think so. Go on back to the Dojo and see if you can  
get Akane-imouto to go to sleep."  
  
Akane snorted, weakly. "Sleep. Feh. _Bath_."  
  
Ranma grinned, "Indeed. _Bath_. I may even beg one from Kasumi-san  
myself."  
  
Nabiki grinned over her shoulder as she ushered Yuka to where she could  
sit down, and shook a fist at them. "Use up all the hot water and you  
answer to me," she mock-threatened.  
  
Ranma's grin turned crooked, and she half-turned from her course to  
sweep a bow. "We shall faithfully avoid the invocation of your wrath,  
Nabiki-san." She urged the wobbly Akane out the gate, and then was  
gone.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Tadaima!"  
  
"Oh, my, I hope that's...." Kasumi had been beside herself with worry.  
Father had managed to tell her that _something_ bad had happened. From  
context she had assumed that something was wrong with Akane or Nabiki,  
but his tears had managed to short out both the TV and the radio, and  
he simply was not coherent enough to tell her what was wrong. She dared  
not leave him alone to seek out the neighbors, and Tofu-san seemed not  
to be answering his phone, but if they were capable of calling out then  
surely it couldn't be _that_ bad. Could it?  
  
Hurrying to the front room, she assessed the condition of Akane-chan  
and that nice young Ranma-san and rapidly revised her opinion: it  
wasn't that bad, it was worse. Only one comment seemed appropriate.  
"Oh, my!"   
  
Ranma looked up at Kasumi's entrance, steering Akane gently toward the  
furo. "We're both mostly alright, Kasumi-san, but we badly need a bath.  
Is the furo hot?"  
  
Kasumi nodded helplessly; they didn't _seem_ alright. Akane was a  
complete mess: dirty, scratched, her new clothes in complete ruination,  
and was that dark substance half covering her arms, legs and back  
_blood_?   
  
Ranma hardly looked better, mainly a matter of fewer areas messed up,  
but some of the stains were a loathsome looking green that made her  
head hurt just to _consider_ trying to get out. Nonetheless she nodded  
affirmatively to Ranma's question, then, as Ranma moved Akane along  
toward the bath, burst out, "Ranma-san, what happened?!"  
  
Ranma turned around briefly and saw Soun hovering at the entrance to  
the living room, then sent Akane on toward the bath and answered. "A  
monster attacked the school, Kasumi-san. We killed it, but there were a  
number of casualties. The authorities seemed to have the matter in  
hand, so I felt that Akane needed to get home immediately, and take a  
bath, and probably a nap. With your permission?"  
  
Kasumi nodded and turned back to Father, who had burst out in fresh  
tears. "Now, now, Father, you heard Ranma-san; both the girls are all  
right and...." She herded him back into his room to have a lie-down and  
thought, 'A monster. Oh, my!'  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
  
Ranma ignored the clothes heaped untidily on the floor, and quickly  
stripped. Picking up the water pail and soap, she spent several minutes  
firmly scrubbing out the ichor and gore that encrusted several areas of  
her arms and legs, then filled up the pail again and soaped the rest of  
her body before dumping the pail of water over her head to rinse off.   
  
Then she walked over to Akane, who was sitting on a stool, staring at  
her blood-stained hands and feebly attempting to scrub the stains off.  
Ranma took the soap and washcloth from Akane's unresisting hands and  
used them to quickly rid her of her unwanted decorations, then rinsed  
her off and put her into the tub to soak, joining her soon thereafter.   
  
Ranma settled back into the steaming water and felt her muscles relax,  
but she noted that Akane was not relaxing, and was, in fact, on the  
verge of tears. She let Akane have a minute of silence, then gently  
asked, "Want to talk about it?"  
  
Akane sniffed and shook her head, "N-no, Ranchan, I'll be alright, just  
... could you sing for me, something ...."  
  
Ranma suddenly found her vision obscured, a gust of steam had no doubt  
chosen to make a wrong turn. "Sure, _Acchan_, I'll sing something. You  
just relax, now. Maybe try to go to sleep."   
  
That pair in the corner,  
They're here every Tuesday,  
They come when the market   
First opens its stalls.  
And it's got so that lately  
I'll wait just to see them,  
Their heads bent together,  
As they come down the hall.  
  
And Akane felt herself, very slowly, begin to relax. Felt the pains of  
the day roll away. Felt the horror, and the fear, and, what she felt  
was worst of all -- the strange, singing joy -- begin to fade. Felt the  
aches and bruises and the tiredness which denied even sleep or rest  
begin to heal.   
  
And her hair has grown whiter,  
His has grown thinner,  
And their pace has slowed down  
As the years have grown long.  
But they keep step together  
'Mongst strangers who hurry,  
These two old companions,  
Walking slowly along.  
  
Washed away, so to speak, by steaming water. Soothed by safety and  
kindness, and a place to relax. Eased by an easing of stress and fear.   
  
They always take the same table  
And they open their menus,  
And I watch as his hand   
Reaches out to touch hers,  
And she, with the other,   
Reaches under her chair,  
And fumbles her glasses   
From out of her purse.  
  
Healed and lulled to sleep by a glorious, contralto voice. A voice that  
washed over her and swept through her. A voice that eased her sorrows  
without trivializing them. A voice that understood terror and the  
bloodlust she had found herself fighting, but that had triumphed over  
them.  
  
And she reads him the specials,  
He does the ordering,  
They joke with the waitress,   
About watching their weight,  
But the waitress says nothing,   
She just snaps her gum  
And then brings their dessert,  
That they'll share from one plate.  
  
She sat back, finally, and relaxed her muscles one by one. Met her fear  
and disgust head on, and found them to be less terrible than she had  
earlier imagined; and, slowly, began to master them.  
  
Sometimes I watch them too closely,  
They notice me staring  
And they smile at me vaguely,  
Not really seeing my face.  
But they know I'm a stranger,  
Not one of their friends  
Who have died, or long since  
Moved away from this place.  
  
And settled back into a drifting haze, and let a golden voice sink into  
her. And gave up her control over her emotions at last, and gently  
began to weep.  
  
They keep to themselves,  
They're each other's shelter,  
Two hearts grown together,  
Two parts of a whole.  
And I smile at them shyly,  
I know I intrude, on this   
Pair of old lovers,  
And I turn and I go.  
  
And, as she drifted further from consciousness and the cares of the  
day, seemed to see before her a vision.  
  
But, you know that I've seen them  
As they leave the cafe',  
He pulls out her chair,  
And he helps her to stand,  
And he holds out her coat,  
And he hugs it around her  
And together they leave,  
Holding each other's hand.  
  
A vision of herself, older, gray haired. Resting in another furo. And  
placing a hand, scarred but still strong, lovingly on the back of the  
head resting on her shoulder. A head in whose hair, also mostly gray,  
could still be seen the occasional strand of flaming, sunset red.   
  
And there's a love beyond words  
In their every small gesture,  
As the two old companions   
Make their way through the town  
There's a love beyond name,   
beyond years,   
beyond measure.  
And the days that they share  
Are the stars in their crown.  
  
And gently slipped into slumber, and dreamed of something unseen.  
Something which she loved with all her heart, and which brought her  
great joy. But what it was, when she woke up, she was unable to recall.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Akane awoke slowly, to a background of humming and soft, mumbled  
curses. She was lying in her bed and clothed in her nightgown, but it  
seemed to be daylight. For a moment she could not remember why she  
might be asleep so late in the day, but then memory returned and she  
realized that it must be later in the same day; by the angle of the  
light coming in the window she could see it was sometime just  
afternoon.  
  
Akane sat up and perched on the edge of her mattress, blinking around  
her with still sleepy eyes. There were, she noticed, two things about  
the room that were different from the way she had left it this morning.   
  
The first was the tray-table by the side of her futon, loaded with a  
tray carrying lunch. The second was Ranma, sitting at her desk, wearing  
one of her old overalls and a shirt slightly too small for her -- and,  
she noticed, no bra -- and bent over a homework assignment in math,  
which she appeared to be making heavy weather of.  
  
Akane absently ate her lunch while she tried to make some sense of the  
events of the day. She finished just as Ranma hissed in frustration,  
crumpled the scratch sheet of paper she was working with, and threw it  
across the room. "Stupid thing," she pouted, "I don't think it even  
_has_ a solution!" Turning around she grinned at Akane, "Awake at last!  
Did you enjoy your lunch ... Acchan?"  
  
Akane blinkied, 'Acchan? What ... ohmikami ... the furo! What'll she  
think of me?' Her hands flew to her face in dismay as she blushed a  
fiery red.  
  
Ranma's grin moderated itself into a gentle smile. "No, Akane, I'm not  
mad. In fact, the only other person who has ever called me that was the  
very first friend I ever made. I am more honored than I can say that  
you have chosen to be the second."  
  
This did not particularly seem to help Akane's blush, and she looked  
down at her folded hands bashfully. "Ar-are you sure, Ranma?" She  
looked up at the redhead where she sat at the desk. "I've never, that  
is ...."   
  
Ranma rose lithely to her feet, and crossed the room to where Akane  
sat, hugging her fiercely. "I'm sure, Acchan. As long as you promise to  
stay my friend."  
  
Akane told the sudden tears to go away and hugged her friend back,  
trying to place the sudden thumping in her chest. "I promise, Ranchan.  
As long as you promise too."  
  
Ranma stepped back and extended a pinky, her grin almost splitting her  
face. "I promise."  
  
Akane hooked her pinky through Ranma's and gripped, feeling a grin  
taking over her face as well. "I promise too."  
  
Ranma held the pinky grip a moment, and then stepped back, crossing her  
arms over her chest. "Which does _not_, however, get you off of getting  
beaten on during training."  
  
Akane's grin turned crooked, "Wouldn't want it to." Then, jerking her  
head at the desk, "What's got you so happy over there?"   
  
"Oh, you would remind me. Feh." Ranma blew her cheeks out and sighed.  
She walked back to the desk and sat down, Akane following behind her,  
and picked up her pencil. "It's a 'Problem of Multiple Variables in  
Multiple Equations' if you please. Bah!"  
  
Akane leaned over Ranma's shoulder and looked at the problem. "This one  
doesn't seem _that_ hard, Ranchan."  
  
"Hah! So you say, but look at this! These things don't even have the  
same terms in them!"  
  
Akane chuckled and took the pencil from Ranma's hand. "You're trying  
too hard, Ranchan. See, you take this equation here -- it reduces to  
_this_ variable, see? So you replace the instances of that variable in  
_this_ equation and then you ...."  
  
Fainter now, lower in tone "Oh, that's how... Neat, Acchan! But now  
how...."  
  
Fainter yet, "You just...."  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Nabiki had come home soon after noon, and had eaten a sandwich before  
even seeking the furo. Now, around two in the afternoon, she had just  
come from a _long_ soak in the hot water, new clothes, and another  
large meal, and was beginning to feel human again. She pushed back her  
plate and turned to Kasumi, questioning, "Oneechan, where is everybody  
else?"  
  
"Father is sleeping in his room, Nabiki-chan, he took the news very  
hard. Ranma-san and Akane-chan are training, I believe." She turned  
around and caught Nabiki's eyes, "I didn't get many details, imouto-  
chan, how was it, really?"  
  
Nabiki shuddered violently, "If it hadn't been for Ranma-san we'd have  
all been killed, oneechan. And if Akane-chan hadn't _attacked_ the  
thing I don't know if even Ranma-san could have killed it. It just  
wouldn't _die_, not even when she cut its head off!" She shuddered  
again.  
  
Kasumi knelt by her and gathered her into a hug, "Akane-chan fighting  
monsters. Who would have thought?"  
  
Nabiki pushed herself back from the hug, "You said they were training,  
oneechan? Do you know where they are? I need to talk to Ranma-san."   
  
Kasumi frowned slightly, "Be careful, Nabiki-chan."  
  
Nabiki shook her head, "I will be, oneechan. I owe her my life, and so  
does Akane-chan. But we need to know more about her. I think she _knew_  
or recognized that thing today. What if there's more of them?"   
  
Kasumi nodded seriously.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma flowed out of the way of Akane's kick and thumped her on the  
head, then called a halt. "Break, Acchan, I've got what I needed, and  
you're getting sloppy."  
  
She put her back to the dojo wall and placed one foot against it,  
crossed her arms, and considered Akane, waiting for her to regain her  
breath. "And besides, I think your sister wants something."   
  
Nabiki moved out from the entrance where she had been lurking just out  
of view. "Looking good, Akane-chan, what were you doing just then?"   
  
Ranma answered, "Just general assessment work Nabiki-san. I want to  
make sure that I know where Acchan is _now_, so I can figure where she  
needs to go. It's the first time I've really had a student, and I want  
to be sure I get it right."  
  
Nabiki raised an eyebrow, and Akane stopped panting long enough to  
wheeze out, "You talk to Nabiki-oneechan, Ranchan, I'm gonna lie down  
and pant for a while." She walked to the wall and sat down beside it,  
then flopped down on her back and lay panting.  
  
Nabiki raised the other eyebrow, 'Acchan? Ranchan? Geeze, what went  
_on_ in that furo, anyway?', but allowed no other sign to cross her  
face; instead she sweetly inquired, "Should we get out of your way and  
let you take a nap, Akane-chan?"  
  
Akane turned half over and red-eyed her, "Biiiii-da!"  
  
Ranma smirked, "Was there something you wanted, Nabiki-san, or is this  
just one of those sibling rivalry things?"  
  
Nabiki turned back to her, and turned serious at the same time. "Yes,  
Ranma-san, there was. It's about that monster this morning. You acted  
as though you knew him."  
  
"That would be because I did know him, Nabiki-san." She pushed her  
tongue into her cheek for a moment, "Mind you, the last time I saw him  
there was nothing left but bones, which had just been buried under the  
ruins of a stone tower, underneath which were several tons of  
gunpowder. Which went off immediately thereafter. So I didn't really  
suspect that I'd ever see him _again_, but...."  
  
She considered Nabiki's face for a moment, "But I suspect that what you  
actually _want_ is the story, ne?"  
  
Nabiki buffed her nails for a moment, "Why, yes Ranma-san, I believe it  
is. Unless," she added calmly, "you would prefer not to tell it?"   
  
"No, no, it's not secret. It is kind of long though. It might be a good  
idea to have Kasumi-san make some snacks and tea. Since I suspect that  
she might wish to hear it too."  
  
"For some odd reason," Nabiki refrained from smirking, "she has, in  
fact, just finished making some."  
  
Ranma arched an eyebrow of her own. "Preplanning. The sure sign of a  
conspiracy. Come, Acchan, we are summoned to Tea."  
  
Akane groaned, "What do you mean, 'We', barbarian?"  
  
"I mean _we_, shirker. As in _you_ and _I_. Because _I_ am summoned by  
your sister, and _you_ are summoned by me."  
  
Akane groaned again, and rolled over, coming to her knees. "Ohhhh. My  
sensei is a bully."  
  
"All sensei are bullies, Acchan." Ranma bopped her on the head,"It's  
the notable trait of the type."   
  
And Kasumi came through the door with a tray.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The girls were seated in a circle around the tray, sitting in the  
middle of the dojo floor. Ranma blew softly on a teacup to cool it, and  
crooked a grin through the steam at the others.   
  
So. The story. I should start at the beginning, I guess. And  
the beginning .... (Her eyes focused on something far away,  
or perhaps long ago, then refocused on the girls.) The  
beginning starts with my Dad. Oyaji. And the things you need  
to know about Oyaji number three.   
  
First, he's a Martial Artist.Second, he is of Low Moral  
Character. And third, he's an Idiot.  
  
Nabiki *snrrked* and Akane frowned, glaring at someone non-present.   
  
(Ranma grinned crookedly.) Because he's a Martial Artist, he  
wanted me to be one too. Because he's an Idiot, he just knew  
that this noble goal could not possibly be attempted around  
my mother. So he took the opportunity, when I was five, to  
take me away on a long training trip, and never bring me  
back. And because he is of Low Moral Character we spent the  
next six and a half years running from place to place.  
Generally, I realize now, to escape some debt or other, or  
get away from the blame for some theft or scam.  
  
Now, when I was eleven or so, Oyaji found, or bought, or  
stole, or _something_, this book. These books, actually --  
there were two of them.   
  
The first was a Chinese ... guide to training grounds, I  
guess. It had only been translated a little and most of the  
text was still in Chinese, which Oyaji didn't know how to  
read, but he still got all excited about 'the marvelous  
possibilities to seek out strengthening struggle in the  
service of our Art'. (Ranma's voice went very pompous for a  
moment, then returned to normal.) Feh.   
  
Anyway, the _other_ book was a manual of 'Rare and Forbidden  
Training Methods'. One of these was the 'Neko-ken', a  
supposed way to train a subject in an Invincible Martial Arts  
Special Technique. (Ranma's mouth twisted momentarily, and  
she sighed.)  
  
What you do, the book said, is you take the trainee, and the  
younger the better, and you cover him or her with fish  
sausage. Then you find yourself a pit, and put a bunch of  
starving ca-ca- ... cats into it. And then you take the  
trainee, and you throw him, or her, in. In the pit, in case  
that wasn't clear.  
  
(Ranma's face was still and far away, Akane's and Kasumi's  
were nearly identical masks of horror, and Nabiki's was as  
set and still as stone. Ranma's eyes refocused suddenly, and  
she continued.) Then, on the next page of the book, it says  
that the _reason_ this technique is 'Rare and Forbidden' is  
that; One - it doesn't work, and Two - only a complete idiot  
would try it in the first place.   
  
The trouble is, Oyaji _is_ a complete idiot, and he didn't  
_read_ that far. (Ranma's mouth twisted again, and she  
sighed.)  
  
Nabiki's face was terrible in its stillness, but her voice was gentle,  
"So what _does_ the training do Ranma-san?"  
  
Ranma's voice was equally gentle. "It makes you afraid of cats, Nabiki-  
san."  
  
Kasumi buried her face in her hands, and Akane's face began to twist in  
anger, as Nabiki's control broke at last. "No! I never _would_ have  
guessed that!" she snarled, "So what did the _genius_ do then?"   
  
Ranma smiled sadly, and quirked an eyebrow.   
  
Why he devoted the full force of his Martial Intellect to the  
problem, of course. And quickly determined the source of the  
error.   
  
It was quite clear; the author of the book had _hidden_ the  
critical detail! Oh, yes! It simply had to be a question of  
the _bait_ you used, you see.   
  
And he set out to resolve the detail in the finest scientific  
fashion. Oh, yes! He repeated the experiment, only using fish  
cakes, instead.   
  
And then he tried dried bream.   
  
And then he tried salmon.   
  
And then he tried varied sushi.   
  
And then he tried octopus and squid.   
  
And then he tried octopus _by itself_.   
  
And then....  
  
Akane broke, and hurled herself into Ranma's shoulder, wailing. Kasumi  
turned her head, sobbing muffledly into her hands. Ranma gently  
massaged the back of Akane's neck and *hssh*d.   
  
Finally, it developed that, if you pursue your course with  
unrelenting intensity, you will, in fact, teach the trainee  
an Invincible Technique. The fact that the training will have  
driven her psychotic by that point is surely a minor detail  
by comparison, ne?  
  
"So, what happened then?" Nabiki asked, soothing Kasumi.   
  
Well, I managed to avoid killing him about three times in the  
next week ("Damn!" Nabiki interjected.) but I knew that I  
couldn't do it forever.   
  
The problem, you see, is that the Invincible Technique works  
by turning part of your soul into the soul of a cat. And it's  
the cat that controls the technique. A cat that doesn't have  
a bunch of stuff it wants to have -- like fur, and a tail --  
and does have a bunch of stuff it doesn't want to have --  
like hands, and upright posture -- and which is trying to  
contend with being half-human as well, and which is,  
therefore, Righteously Pissed Off.   
  
"So what did *snnf*, what did you do, Ranchan?"  
  
I beat him up, (Ranma shrugged) and told him that I was  
leaving. He'd had six and a half years to train me and see  
what I'd gotten from it. Then he wailed and whined until I  
said I'd come back in another six and a half years and see  
which of us had done a better job.   
  
If I could beat him, he'd acknowledge me as the head of the  
school, and go back to work to help support it until I got it  
back on its feet. If I lost I'd go back to training under him  
at whatever he wanted.  
  
He said he'd meet me at this training ground in China he'd  
just found in the _other_ book he'd got: a place in Qing-hai  
province up against the Byankala range. Said it was named  
Jhusenkyou. I promised I'd be there and left. That was five  
years and eleven months ago.  
  
Ranma poured herself another cup of tea and blew on it, gazing at the  
sisters through the steam until a measure of calm was restored.  
  
When I left Oyaji I went hunting something that could help me  
with controlling the cat. I finally wound up at a Zen  
monastery in northern Hokkaido, where I spent the next six  
months.   
  
When I left the monastery, I had managed to stuff the cat  
down under deep control and the Neko-ken with it. Although I  
_am_ still afraid of cats, I don't go berserk unless I can't  
get away from them.  
  
Then I headed into China, and made my way north, to  
Jhusenkyou. The idea I had, you see, was that -- if this  
place _was_ the wonderful training ground Oyaji was so fired  
up about -- then I could study there. If it wasn't I'd still  
have gotten an idea about the lay of the land, maybe enough  
to give me an edge in case Oyaji actually managed to put up a  
fight.  
  
There isn't much to say about the trip ... well, actually  
that's not true. There's a lot to say about the trip, but  
that's not the story I'm telling, so I won't digress into it.  
  
Ranma paused for a moment, and sipped her tea.   
  
The only item of real interest to _this_ story happened when,  
one day, I was walking along a road in Qing-hai itself. I was  
trying to find out where the bloody training ground actually  
_was_, and I came round the corner of a hill, and nearly  
walked into this girl.   
  
She had purple hair, was wielding these silly-looking mace  
thingies, I later learned that they were a local weapon  
called bonbori, and was trying to stare down a tiger.  
  
Now, it's an interesting thing to say, but the 'training'  
Oyaji put me through did seem to have _one_ good effect; I'm  
afraid of cats, yes, but only _house_ cats. Other kinds, like  
tigers, don't affect me at all. Plus which, the phobia about  
cats seems to have sucked up all the fear I have in me. On  
the one hand, that means that when the nekophobia hits it  
hits _hard_; but on the other hand, I don't have much left  
for anything _else_, so when I get into situations like that  
I don't panic.   
  
Which was a good thing, at the time. Anyway, I remembered  
about some animals making themselves look bigger and louder  
to frighten off an attacker, and figured that I didn't have  
much to lose. So I jumped up _way_ high and _yelled_ at the  
top of my lungs. And it must have worked, 'cause the tiger  
turned and ran off like his tail was on fire. (Ranma gave  
another grin) Anyway, that was how I met Shan Pu.  
  
Shan turned out to be the champion-apparent of the village of  
Joketsuzoku -- which is part of the ancestral holdings of the  
Strong-Women-Hero-Tribe, sometimes called the Chinese Amazons  
-- and by the time we got back to her village, she was the  
second friend I'd ever made. So I spent some time in the  
village, and learned a few tricks, and it turned out that  
they _did_ know where Jhusenkyou was, only they didn't want  
to tell _me_.  
  
It seemed, they said, that the whole valley of Jhusenkyou was  
cursed, and anyone who went there would probably get cursed  
too. Well, I reckoned that I was too smart to fall for an  
obvious dodge like _that_, and one night I snuck out of the  
village and traveled to the valley where Jhusenkyou was.  
  
I've always wished (Ranma's eyes were far away again) I'd  
listened to Cologne-obaasama; I might have spared myself a  
lot of grief.   
  
She'd been right, you see, the valley of Jhusenkyou _is_  
cursed, and if you go there you probably _will_ end up cursed  
too. I don't know what all the curses of Jhusenkyou do, but  
the one thing that they _all_ do is the one thing that really  
makes them curses: after you go there, you live in  
interesting times.  
  
Ranma paused a moment and sipped more tea.   
  
And I don't mean 'nice' interesting either. _Not_ nice  
interesting is the order of the day, here. If you stumble,  
you fall down a hill. And there's a dung-heap at the bottom,  
too. And you don't even get to break your fall, oh no,  
there's a rock waiting under it, you can bet.   
  
If anything falls out of the sky, it lands on your head. If  
you go through a bush, you find the thorns, and if it doesn't  
_have_ thorns there'll be a bramble growing there, instead.  
If somebody shoots an arrow at you and ten other  
people,_you're_ the one standing in the way.  
  
Well, I already knew that the Joketsuzoku didn't have any way  
to cure the curses, and I was too embarrassed to go back  
after I ignored their warnings anyway, so I wandered back  
south instead. I never did find a cure for the curse in  
China, but I did finally end up in a place that led to my  
eventually finding one elsewhere, and also to my meeting that  
noble gentleman we entertained earlier today, and to a bunch  
of other stuff as well.  
  
The reason is this, (she opened her shirt slightly, and took  
an amulet of silver from around her neck, laying it in the  
center of the circle) and how and why I got it is a story in  
itself.  
  
Nabiki picked up the amulet and examined it, showing it to Akane and  
Kasumi. It was made of fretted silver, about three inches across,  
chased with interlocking dragons and spirits around the outside.  
Mounted so as to entirely take up one face of the amulet was a small,  
cracked mirror. Mounted on the other side was a triangular piece of  
pottery, perhaps two inches on a side, covered with patterns that  
looked like stretched cords or ropes. Nabiki turned it over and about  
in her hands as Ranma went on.   
  
The place I ended up was Hong Kong, and in order to  
understand the story I'm about to tell you have to know the  
one cardinal thing about my character at the time: I was a  
barbarian.  
  
Nabiki raised an eyebrow and smirked, "_At the time_, Ranma-san?"   
  
"Of course, Nabiki-san. Now, I'm only _uncivilized_."  
  
"Ah. I see. Do go on."  
  
Ranma smirked, herself, and did so.   
  
I hadn't been around people much at all, 'cause Oyaji'd moved  
around so much, and I was what you might call 'sheltered'  
about a lot of things as a result. So, when, just after I got  
to the city, I saw this girl who was wearing about half of  
nothing -- and that mostly torn -- all _I_ thought was,  
'isn't that _cold_?'  
  
Nabiki sniggered and both Akane and Kasumi blushed.   
  
And when this guy came out of an alley (Ranma's grin turned  
crooked) and pushed her up against a wall, all I thought was  
that he shouldn't use that knife to make a girl cry like  
that. So I took the knife away from him and broke his arms in  
a couple places and ran him off.   
  
Then I went to see if the girl was alright. Her name turned  
out to be Masuda Kee, and she was half Japanese, a geisha --  
well, a hitoyodzuma really -- and as far as _I_ could see,  
badly in need of someone to tell her to come in out of the  
rain.   
  
Now, at the time, I didn't know the difference between a  
geisha, a hitoyodzuma and a fish-seller; but I did know  
something about surviving on the road, and on the streets as  
well. As it turned out later, Kee-'moutochan did not, being  
of that temperament that fails to concentrate on business  
because it gets too caught up in its work.  
  
Nabiki was keeping her face straight with an effort, and Akane and  
Kasumi were reddening alarmingly, but Ranma merely grinned more  
crookedly yet.   
  
She had offended several of the local street trash by being  
insufficiently grateful for their 'protection' and had  
attracted far too much attention -- and customers -- for  
safety. So I appointed myself as her 'older' sibling, and  
began trying to figure out where to go to hook up with  
someone who could keep track of business for her, and put a  
roof over her head.   
  
In the process I managed to offend someone myself. This led  
to my inadvertently eating a plate of mushrooms that had been  
drenched in LSD and laced with about twenty grams of pure  
opium.   
  
Fortunately I didn't eat the whole thing, but it was enough  
to addict me badly, and the trip was .... (Ranma shuddered  
briefly)   
  
Kee-chan put me to bed and kept me off my feet when I was  
raving, long enough to work through the trip. And it turned  
out to be the solution to her problem, because she rented a  
room from -- and explained her problems to -- someone on the  
shady side who knew someone who knew someone who knew  
someone, who mentioned it to the okaasama of the Dream of the  
Jade Pagoda of the Golden Door of Infinite Bliss.  
  
Nabiki choked briefly, "The Dream of Jade? That's the best pleasure  
house in Hong Kong!"  
  
Ranma raised an eyebrow, "Why, yes it is Nabiki-san. And we're all  
wondering how it is you came to know that."  
  
Nabiki blushed, but held her chin up. "I keep my ear to the ground,"  
she said, attempting to retain what was left of her dignity.   
  
"Of course you do," Ranma said, straight-faced, "that's perfectly sound  
business practice."  
  
Nabiki disdained to reply, and Ranma grinned and continued.   
  
Liang-okaasama decided that Lee-chan should go to work for  
her, since the best-- or at least most enthusiastic -- geisha  
in Hong Kong should obviously be working for the best  
pleasure house in Hong Kong. Or the other way 'round,  
depending. So that fixed Lee-imoutochan's problem, and  
provided me, after I recovered, with an opportunity to expand  
my education a bit.  
  
Ranma's eyes twinkled wickedly and Akane's blush expanded visibly.  
Kasumi, on the other hand, had achieved the determinedly unaffected  
countenance of one who Is Not Hearing This.   
  
Nabiki coughed, and squeaked "You mean...?"  
  
Ranma fixed her with a very speaking look, and asked, "What would _you_  
have done? Besides, can you think of a _better_ time or place?"   
  
Nabiki muttered something about "twelve", but did not seem otherwise  
inclined to reply to this question. Akane was bravely fighting off  
unconsciousness from excessive blood drain to the face, but surprised  
herself with a giggle. Kasumi was still in the land of the selectively  
deaf, and therefore Ranma went on unhindered.   
  
That aside, however, and continuing with my story, it was at  
the Golden Door that I met Oniichan Kai. He was a genin for  
the Black Wave Yakuza, (Nabiki started) and he used to bring  
his wife and their daughter to the Golden Door's restaurant  
for dinner.   
  
He sort of adopted me at the time, and I always looked on him  
as the big brother I'd never had, and I was friends with  
Oneesan Asako too. Imoutochan Kaiko was my little sister  
along with Kee-chan and for a while there I thought that I'd  
found a family and wouldn't need to go anywhere else while I  
waited to beat up on Oyaji.   
  
I'd made contacts with the local Temples too, and I'd go to  
train there, or Kai-oniichan would use his contacts to get me  
some lessons with one of the wandering masters, or he'd train  
me himself, or Liang-okaasama would use her contacts or....  
  
Ranma's eyes were fixed in time and space, looking at something far  
away. She sighed and a suspicious glimmer began to gather at the corner  
of her eye.   
  
I suppose I should have known better. Liang-okaasama had made  
the Golden Door a neutral ground in the Hong Kong underside  
and the city's major underworld clans were sort of united  
around it. Not so much in coalition, as in a mutual  
understanding that violence and unrest was bad for business.  
  
The Black Wave was one of the three most powerful Yakuza  
clans in the city, along with the Silver Skull and the Golden  
Sword, and they and the most powerful of the Triads enforced  
a sort of peace on the more ... 'established' parts of the  
underworld, as it were.  
  
Needless to say, some of the _less_ established parts were  
not too happy about that, and one day we found out that this  
guy named Master Po had organized a war. He had been a master  
in one of the older Triads, and was some kind of sorcerer  
too, so he had a fairish amount of support just on his own  
hook; and then he'd organized most of the little gangs and  
rings and such into an army, too.   
  
Alongside that, he'd made an alliance with the powers of  
Darkness, and he could command or bargain with the undead, so  
he had about 30 or 40 vampires as shock troops.  
  
Ranma put down her teacup and leaned forward, sighing again.   
  
The whole thing was very quiet, but it was also extremely  
ugly and for a while there we were hard pressed. But  
Kai-oniichan organized the enforcers of the major  
organizations into a counter-army, and the temple monks and  
priests made a bunch of peachwood swords and wards and things  
that the vampires couldn't handle, and I got the street-folk  
organized to use them and some basic weaponry and we killed  
all the vamps that didn't run and we drove the upstarts back  
to the wall.   
  
Then we were betrayed.  
  
Nabiki spoke up hesitantly, "Ranma-san, I'd heard some rumors about a  
big shake-up in one of the major Hong Kong clans a while back, but no  
one ever had any details. Could that have been...?"  
  
Ranma nodded, pricking tears.   
  
Oyabun Mikoji died very suddenly. It might have been natural,  
he was about 80, but I've always suspected that Po got to him  
somehow. I _know_ he got to others, 'cause Mikoji-dono's  
successor suddenly decided that Master Po had the secret to  
'Eternal Life' and the Black Wave and the Fire Harmony Triad  
switched sides.   
  
Maybe Master Po was a vampire himself, and he turned the  
leaders, I don't know. What I do know is that suddenly the  
dead started rising up around our feet, vampires started  
coming out of the walls, and half our soldiers were on the  
other side all of a sudden and knew our plans to boot.  
  
Ranma shivered for a moment, eyes again far off.   
  
The only way out that I could see was to take Po down before  
he could consolidate, and hope that the shock dispelled all  
the zombies and things, or at least slowed them down. So I  
organized what I could get my hands on and we went through  
the front of their defenses.   
  
It helped that I'd gotten one of the zombies restrained,  
'cause I showed the thing off to the Black Wave troops on  
that section and three fourths of them changed sides again.   
  
Anyway we broke the defense of Po's sanctum and went in to  
get him, but we discovered that he'd called all his proteges  
in for a conference, and they'd brought their guards. So we  
plowed into them, and when it was over the only two left  
standing were me and Kai-oniichan, who'd been commanding the  
guards.  
  
Akane gasped in sympathy, "Ranchan, why didn't he switch sides too?  
Didn't you tell him ...?"  
  
Ranma looked at her through gathering tears. "Because he was a Samurai,  
Acchan, and wouldn't leave his Lord's side."  
  
Akane nodded, eyes also dimmed by tears, and Ranma continued.   
  
So I knew Po and the others were just beyond him, and I knew  
he wouldn't get out of my way, and I knew I couldn't beat  
him. So I turned loose the cat, and the last thing I remember  
before I woke up in the middle of the pile of corpses that  
had used to be Master Po and his lieutenants and the traitors  
was batting Kai-oniichan out of the way, and he went through  
a wall trailing blood.  
  
Akane gathered Ranma to her, and the redhead nestled her face into her  
friend's shoulder for a long minute, silently weeping. When she  
regained control she sat back and wiped her eyes, and continued.   
  
We never did recover Oniichan's body, but the place had been  
pretty badly damaged in the fight and the whole thing burned  
down and exploded right after that, so that's not too  
surprising.   
  
Anyway I couldn't stay in the city after that, so I made what  
arrangements I could for Asako-oneesan and Kaiko-imoutochan,  
and got ready to leave. Then the Abbot of the Silver Mist  
Temple took me aside and told me that the they'd been  
guarding something for a couple centuries now, but he felt I  
was worthy and he wanted me to have it. (Ranma gestured at  
the amulet in the center of the circle.)  
  
Well, I didn't _feel_ worthy, but the Abbot said that it  
could help me find what I needed so I took it anyway. What it  
was, was the mirror set into that amulet there, and the Abbot  
said it was the, or maybe _a_, Nanban Mirror, and it was a  
magic mirror of travel.   
  
So I put it in my pack, and took some of the money I had, and  
came back to Tokyo at last. I was deeply depressed, still in  
shock, and had no idea what I was going to do with my life,  
or even if I should bother. I was thirteen years old. So,  
just after I got back, I took a trip to see Fuji-san. I was  
completely bummed out and seeing the happy people all around  
didn't help, and I had this stupid mirror in my pack and it  
wasn't doing anything at all. So I found this little clearing  
and took it out and yelled at it. It didn't do anything, and  
finally I started crying, and that was how I found out how it  
works.  
  
Akane frowned, "You mean...?"  
  
Yep. Tears. (Ranma nodded firmly) Tears or blood. Drop them  
onto the mirror and it'll take you away. _But_. You see that  
the Mirror's cracked? So sometimes it takes you where you ask  
to go.   
  
And _sometimes_ it takes you where you _want_ to go.   
  
And sometimes it takes you where you _need_ to go.   
  
And sometimes -- if you're unlucky -- it takes you where you  
_deserve_ to go.  
  
Nabiki asked "Can anyone use it?" as Akane overrode her with, "So where  
did it take you, Ranchan?"  
  
Ranma smirked and answered Nabiki first. "Maybe once, Nabiki-san, but  
not any more. I've spilled too much blood on it, and it'll only work  
for me until I die."  
  
And as to where it took me.... Well. I knew as soon as it  
happened that it had done _something_, but I didn't know  
_what_.   
  
So I started looking around, and I noticed that Fuji-san was  
smaller. Now I was standing in the same place and hadn't  
moved as far as I could tell, but still I could tell it  
wasn't the same place at all. So I started walking around,  
and I noticed that whether I'd moved or not some of the  
landmarks weren't there, and others were changed, and there  
wasn't any sign of people around at all.   
  
Eventually I found an open space in the woods, and followed  
that to a stream. I followed the stream along for a day or  
so, and finally broke out into a cleared field.  
  
Now I'd been seeing the right trees and plants for the area  
all around me, and Fuji-san was still there so I knew I must  
still be in Japan, but I also knew it wasn't _my_ Japan. So  
when I walked around the outer edge of the field and came in  
sight of the village the field was a part of and found that  
it was all primitive houses and stuff, and that the people in  
it were Ainu, I wasn't as surprised as I might have been  
otherwise.  
  
Nabiki started and Kasumi gasped, "Ainu! Near Fuji-san? Kami, how far  
back did you go?"  
  
From research I did later, Kasumi-san, (Ranma smiled her  
crooked smile) I figure about 2500 to 3000 years.  
  
Akane shook her head in shock and Ranma grinned at her.   
  
So I was walking along the edge of the field, not looking at  
the ground, and I trod on something and it dug into my foot.  
I picked it up, and took it into the village.  
  
Now the village didn't know what to do with me at all, and it  
didn't help that I was pissed off, but they figured that I  
must be a spirit or something and sent for the shaman. The  
shaman was a smart old bugger, and we figured out how to talk  
to each other a little bit. I asked him what the hell they  
thought they were doing to leave things like that out where  
they could bite people, and he said that it wasn't theirs.   
  
They just popped up, he said. They'd been made by somebody  
back at the dawn of time, and then they'd all gotten broke  
and scattered about when the world came to an end. Or  
something like that, anyway.   
  
So I said that if they gave me a place to sleep and some food  
I wouldn't be mad at them. So they shared what they had,  
which wasn't much, and it was good that they did, 'cause that  
night some bandit types came out of the forest and I had to  
run them off.  
  
I'd had to kill a couple of the bandits, (Ranma poured  
herself another cup of tea.) and the next morning I tried to  
talk to the shaman again. It turned out that the village  
didn't actually have anything to take except a little food,  
but the bandits would take anything they could get.   
  
Later that night I looked at the pottery piece I'd stepped on  
-- that's it on the back of the amulet -- and I noticed  
something.  
  
The piece had been broken off its pot when somebody hit it  
with an axe. If you look you can see the signs at the top. So  
I used the mirror to go back to Tokyo, and went to a museum.  
  
The guy I talked to there said it was a Jomon pot, and  
figured that it must be 5000 years old at least.  
  
And I sat down _that_ night and thought about it some more.  
And I realized that some poor guy had made this pot the best  
he could, cause he'd needed it for something. And some other  
bastard had come along and broken it, and probably killed the  
guy that made it too. And it had waited 2000 years in the  
ground so it could come up and bite my foot, so I would stay  
in a little village where little people lived who hardly had  
enough for their families to eat. And then another group of  
bastards had come out of the forest to break all _their_  
stuff and kill _them_, but I'd stopped them instead.   
  
And I'd just come from 3000 years ahead of when those little  
people lived their lives in that little village; where I'd  
been living in a city with another group of little people  
trying to get on with their lives; and yet _another_ set of  
bastards had come out of the wilderness and tried to kill and  
mess up _them_, just so they could steal what _they_ had.  
  
And it came to me that, if I went wandering around living  
with groups of little people trying to get on with their  
lives long enough, probably any set of them that you cared to  
name was eventually going to have some set of bastards or  
other come out of the wilderness and try to kill them and  
break all their stuff so they could steal whatever they had.  
And if I was there, then I could stop them from doing it. And  
that was about as good a road to travel as I was ever going  
to get.  
  
So I took the mirror and had it mounted in the amulet, and  
had the guy put the pot-shard on the other side, to thank it  
for the lesson. And then I asked the mirror to take me to  
somewhere I could learn to become a protector, and cut my arm  
and bled on it, and off I went.  
  
Akane's eyes were bright and she leaned forward. "So where did youend  
up that time, Ranchan?"  
  
Well I ended up on top of a hill, and when I tried to get my  
bearings I tripped and rolled down it and when I reached the  
bottom of the hill I ended up at the feet of this tall,  
handsome, noble-looking guy with a samurai's swords and  
topknot and the clothing of a wandering ronin. Except he was  
a rabbit. And that was how I met Usagi.  
  
"W-wait just a minute, Ranchan. A rabbit?" Akane blinked in confusion.  
  
Ranma nodded.   
  
Usagi's world is basically Japan in 1620 CE or so, except  
most of the people are - what's the word? -- anthropomorphs!  
That's it. You know, human-shaped animals, like in a manga.  
So there's Bulls and Bears and Cats and Rabbits and Foxes  
.... Daimyo Noriyuki is a _Panda_ of all things, for  
instance.  
  
So, to continue, Usagi-dono, that's Miyamoto Usagi by the  
way, had been a samurai in the service of the Daimyo Mifune.  
Mifune was the enemy of Daimyo Hijiki, and about five or six  
years before I'd met them, in the last part of the battles  
for the Shogunate, they'd come to blows.   
  
Lord Mifune would probably have won, but Hijiki is a plotter,  
and he plotted well. Two of Mifune's allies turned traitor,  
along with one of his generals and the commander of his  
bodyguard. Usagi was away from his side acting as a courier  
at the time and he got back too late; Gunichi had run off and  
Lord Mifune was mortally injured.   
  
A samurai's loyalty doesn't end just because his lord is  
dead, and so Usagi wanders serving his master's cause as best  
he can as a ronin.  
  
Akane sniffed and wiped her eyes and Ranma smiled wistfully.   
  
It's all very sweet and touching and honorable, and  
Usagi-dono is handsome and noble and kind, so I was more than  
willing to follow him around and train with him.  
  
Nabiki grinned twistedly, "Get lucky?" Akane bopped her on the head.   
  
No, darn it! (Ranma pouted) There's such a thing as being  
_too_ noble. Although I see now that he was basically already  
taken anyway. And I did manage to retain _most_ of my  
dignity.   
  
But I learned a lot about combat, and honor, and the sword;  
and traveling with Usagi is good for putting polish on young  
warriors if it's good for nothing else. I met a number of his  
friends and acquaintances, and managed to spend a month or  
two with a few of them as well.  
  
After that, I left and used the mirror to go a few years  
later in our own Japan for a while and then jumped back and  
forth to here and there training in whatever Art was  
available wherever I went. But I would go back to the  
wanderer's road to check on my friends from time to time.   
  
Nabiki quirked an eyebrow. "Just to check, hmmm?"  
  
You get better adventures with Usagi and company around, and  
they _are_ my friends. Plus, to be honest, it's enormously  
liberating to be so free that the only thing that you have to  
worry about is if there's an inn in the direction you woke up  
facing, and that only because it's the direction you're  
walking now.   
  
At least until the first couple of times you spend a wet,  
cold, fireless night 'cause there _wasn't_ one, anyway. And  
that takes a while.  
  
Kasumi and Nabiki had acquired far-off looks, and Akane looked slightly  
wistful. "So what about Jei-san, Ranchan?"  
  
Jei's from Usagi's world of course. He used to be a samurai  
or some such. I ran into him several times and didn't enjoy  
any of the experiences, but they weren't like today. As for  
what he is? (Ranma bit her lip lightly.)   
  
The first couple of times I met him he seemed completely  
human, or wolf, or whatever. Mad as a monk in a morass, mind  
you, but human. He's always claimed to be the champion of the  
gods and such, but _which_ god he's never said. If he knows.   
  
Generally he speaks of a 'sacred mission',which always  
involves mayhem and slaughter of some type, and says that  
when he completes it he will be lifted up and granted  
divinity. He has before been shown to be fast, strong, damn  
good with a sword, deadly with a yari, tough, possessed of  
some kind of tracking sense if he's hunting you, and very  
hard to permanently kill -- he always seems to come back.  
  
Ranma rubbed her chin for a moment and considered.   
  
The first time I met him, he just started ranting and  
attacked me. Since I was with Usagi-dono and Tomoe-dono --  
Noriyuki- sama's chief retainer -- at the time, that was a  
particularly stupid thing to do. It wasn't really much of a  
fight and we left him by the roadside, dead, as we thought at  
the time.  
  
He came back on us and kidnaped the son of the headmaster of  
Usagi-dono's old village to get Usagi-dono to fight him.  
Usagi-dono did, and sent him over a cliff with his yari in  
his side.   
  
The third time that I met him was the only time I ever  
managed to get close to Hijiki-yaro in a fight. Hijiki-yaro's  
not nearly the fighter that he is a plotter, and I nearly had  
him, but Jei-san came out of nowhere and saved the bastard. I  
cut Jei-san's heart in two for it, but I didn't get to see  
what happened to him after that, because Hijiki-yaro took  
advantage of my distraction and did this (Ranma indicated her  
throat, and the scar she bore there).  
  
Ranma tapped her chin with her index finger for a moment.   
  
The last time that I saw Jei-san before this morning ... Was  
about a year ago in my time-line. I had run into the little  
bugger unexpectedly, on the road, and had dueled with him a  
little. Then he broke off and started moving. I thought it  
was weird and pursued. It worked out that he'd been sent or  
moved by his patron or something, because about twenty miles  
away or so I ran into Usagi-dono.  
  
He was with Gennosuke-san and Zato-ino-san and about thirty  
or so Neko clan Ninja. They were preparing to assault this  
castle, the fortress of a moderately important lord named  
Tamakuro, and Jei had gone for the fortress like he'd been  
pulled by a string. Tamakuro-san, according to Usagi-dono and  
the leader of the ninja -- a warrior named Shingen -- had  
gathered together a store of about three hundred arquebuses  
and a couple tons of ammunition and was preparing to rebel  
against the Shogun.   
  
We found out later that Hijiki-yaro was behind it in some  
way, but as usual he didn't leave any evidence you could use.  
  
Anyway we attacked the place and broke through the wall.  
Usagi-dono went off hunting for Tomoe-dono, who was  
imprisoned there, and Gen and Zato-ino-san got pinned down  
holding off about half the garrison near the main gate. This  
left it up to Shingen-san and I to lead the ninja against the  
armory.   
  
We did alright for a while, but then Jei-san stuck his nose  
in. He smashed into the side of our assault and killed  
Shingen-san and a dozen or so ninja, which threw the rest  
into confusion, but then I went after him and chased him up  
into the fortress proper.  
  
Usagi-dono had found Tomoe-dono and he and she had rallied  
the ninja and mounted another assault on the armory; but  
Tamakuro-san had gained enough time to regroup and bring  
reinforcements to the central defense and they were driven  
back.   
  
In the meantime I had run into Jei-san and a samurai I knew  
to be one of Hijiki's chief knives preparing to lead more of  
the guards to trap the rest of our side inside the castle.  
  
I scattered the guards and got involved in a fight with Jei-  
san and Akkhoto-san that damn near killed me, but I  
maneuvered them into one spot in front of the central tower  
and called the dragon wind on them. _That_ time it worked --  
it didn't this morning -- and Jei went down with the tower  
falling on top of him.   
  
About that time I got a very strong impulse to beat feet and  
so I did. Which turned out to be a good thing, 'cause  
something had struck a spark or something in the ammunition  
room and the whole damn place blew sky high.  
  
Now that was the first time that I knew A) that Jei had not  
only been mortally injured but had actually _died_, and, B)  
that the body was destroyed and not lost track of.  
  
Ranma paused for a moment and sipped the last of her tea.   
  
I don't really know how he got out of that, but his showing  
up _here_ just confirms what you could get from the fact that  
he showed up at all; which is that he has some _major_  
supernatural backing.  
  
That, combined with the abilities, weaknesses and immunity to  
damage he showed this morning makes me think that he may have  
been turned into a Chiang Shih. That would mean that someone  
had done something to his higher 'hun' soul and then  
corrupted his 'po' soul ... or replaced it altogether, now  
that I think of it.   
  
He was definitely slower and less skilled than he should have  
been, which would fit, 'cause his 'body soul' would be messed  
up and wouldn't have all the same skill and 'feel' he'd be  
used to. He'd also be damn near impossible to permanently  
damage, which definitely fits.  
  
Normally you'd also expect him to be vulnerable to sunlight,  
but he obviously wasn't. This is probably due to the power he  
was throwing around - that green fire. It showed all the  
signs of being a serious yin ch'i manifestation, and from the  
way it acted I'm betting it was the main thing holding his  
body together.  
  
"Which would mean what?" Nabiki asked softly.  
  
Ranma's eyes were focused on the problem, rather than the girls.  
  
Which would mean that he was something closer to a demon than  
a Chiang Shih per se, Nabiki-san. He'd be using the body only  
as a means to move his power around and not really be  
connected to it at all .... (her eyes narrowed and her voice  
went soft).   
  
Not connected ... now that I think about it I didn't see any  
sign of his 'hun' soul at all did I? I cut out the 'po' soul  
and _it_ was in the heart instead of the lungs, but I didn't  
see the 'hun' at all.   
  
Which could mean that he was using the power to animate the  
body and the body to contain the power and the 'po' soul to  
control it all ... and that would explain why the body blew  
up like that when I took the soul out ... but the 'hun' soul  
had to be _somewhere_, and if it wasn't _there_ ... then he  
must have been given a way to run the body 'long-distance',  
as it were ... which would mean .... that _it_ might _not_  
have been affected by the demise of the rest of his body ....  
which in turn would mean ....  
  
"Which would mean that he could come back, wouldn't it, Ranchan?" asked  
Akane very quietly.  
  
Ranma frowned worriedly. "Yeah, it would."  
  
Nabiki was also very quiet. "If it does come back, what can we do,  
Ranma-san?"  
  
Ranma's gaze was level. "You can hide, Nabiki-san. And if you can't  
hide, then you can run." She transferred her gaze to Akane, who met it  
levelly. "_You_, I'll work with, since I don't suppose I can convince  
you to be sensible and keep out of it."  
  
"No, Ranchan, you can't. As long as you're fighting it, I will be too."  
  
A quiet settled over Akane and Ranma, who were sitting with their gazes  
locked on each other's eyes. Nabiki and Kasumi quietly stood up,  
gathered up the tray and tea things and left the dojo.   
  
Eventually Ranma leaned forward and ran her thumb in a circle around  
Akane's forehead. "Marked with the sign. Just like me." Standing up,  
"Come on, Acchan, you haven't done anywhere near enough training yet."   
  
Akane moaned theatrically as she rose. "Ohhhh. My sensei's a bully."   
  
"All sensei are bullies, Acchan." Ranma bopped her on the head,"It's  
the notable trait of the type. Assume."  
  
"Oh, Kami."  
  
"Kumite."  
  
"Help."  
  
*Hsssh*, *shrk*, *th-thmp* *shrk* *hssh*. *rtch-THUMP*.   
  
"Ite!"   
  
"Slacker."  
  
"Bully."  
  
"Shirker. Assume."  
  
"Baka. Friends?"  
  
"Friends forever, I promise. Kumite."   
  
*Hssh*, *rtch-thp*, *th-thmp**shrk*, *thmp-thmp-SPLT*   
  
"Ite!"  
  
"Which does not, however, get you out of getting beat on."   
  
*rtch-thp*, *shrk-hshh-shrk-rtch*.  
  
"Wouldn't want it any other way."   
  
*th-thmp*, *shrk*, *thmp-thmp-THAP* *whhsh-rtch-THMP!* "HA!"   
  
"Good one."   
  
*THUMP-WHAP-WHAM*   
  
"Ite!"  
  
"Just don't get cocky."  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Akane was seated in seiza in the middle of the dojo floor, eyes closed.  
Ranma knelt behind her with hands poised above her shoulders. "What am  
I trying to feel, Ranchan?"  
  
"You aren't trying to feel anything, Acchan; you're just trying to  
_feel_. If you try to anticipate _what_ to feel, you will feel  
falsely."   
  
"Now you sound like a koan," Akane said, crossly.  
  
"The master came to a yatai which was selling hot dogs. 'What do you  
want on your hot dog?' he was asked. 'Nothing,' he replied. Then the  
hot dog was enlightened." Her hands descended, slowly, to just outside  
Akane's theoretical peripheral vision, had her eyes been open, and  
around them a faint glow began to form.  
  
Akane snorted a giggle, then gasped. Suddenly, she was aware of senses  
she had never before known she had. All around her she sensed flows of  
energy; whirls and spirals and forms of intangible luminescence  
coexisted in her sight with the simple, everyday visions of floor and  
walls and dojo, and outside the dojo she could see/sense/hear/smell yet  
more.   
  
A flaming tidal wave of information and impressions seemed to pass over  
her, and she felt herself burn, as though every limb had been set  
afire. A wash of energy filled her; she could tell that it was her own,  
that in some sense it was _her_, yet it rebelled against her, fought  
her tooth and nail.   
  
She frantically searched for control, sought to reduce the tide of data  
to familiar forms and modes. In front of her she seemed to see a  
shadow, like a blanket to protect her from the fire, and she grasped at  
it desperately. It tore in her metaphorical hands and yet she somehow  
knew that it would heal itself, would cover her eyes and ears, would  
shelter them, if only she could open herself to it.  
  
She yearned for the protection the shadow blanket might offer, but how  
do you shelter under a blanket that tears if you touch it? Then she  
realized: you _ask_ it. And the shadow rolled over her, warm and  
enveloping.   
  
For a brief moment she welcomed the respite, and then the shadow  
resolved itself into visions. Ghosts long gone and barely remembered  
thronged her sight. Some trailed behind her like beads of light tracing  
out the necklace of her past; others swarmed throughout the dojo,  
carrying out the many roles of decades of dojo life.   
  
She saw her father's fading doppelgangers going through kata, her own  
following and growing taller as they did so; saw her mother bringing  
snacks, Kasumi playing about her feet; saw Nabiki strolling through in  
many guises, growing from a toddler into a teenager; saw swiftly  
vanishing traces which seemed to show the future, though how she could  
tell this she could not say.  
  
The milling horde of ghosts was no better than the waves of energy,  
overrunning her senses with too much input to survive. She tried to cry  
out, to scream, but she sensed the weak and desperate energies of the  
call smashed flat, drowned by the raging torrent of conflicting  
energies that surrounded her and foamed through her; drowned, as she  
was drowning; overcome, as she was overcome.   
  
Then the raging sensations weakened, parted, blew aside; she emerged  
into the prosaic world of normal sight and sound and touch like a diver  
from deep water. Slowly and cautiously she extracted herself from the  
sensations that had overwhelmed her, feeling them held back by a  
metaphorical wind generated by Ranma's softly glowing hands.   
  
Finally, she pulled the last of herself free with a sudden jerk; and  
wobbled painfully to her feet, staggering to the wall, where she sank  
down with a groan, putting her face in her hands. A soft footstep  
announced Ranma, who knelt at her side, putting her hand on Akane's  
shoulder. Weakly, Akane held up her head, turning her face to meet  
Ranma's gentle, sad smile.  
  
"Second birth, Acchan, and Third. Welcome to the _real_ world."   
  
"It hurt, Ranchan." Weakly and somewhat petulant, like a child who has  
been assured that a trip to the dentist involves candy.   
  
"Being born always does, in one sense or another. Rest awhile. You've  
started on a great journey, but you still have a long way to go."  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
As the light of late afternoon slanted in from the west, and was  
obscured by gathering clouds, Nabiki was speaking with Kasumi and Ranma  
left Akane in the furo.   
  
Akane had entered into the spirit of the training with alacrity, and  
had become somewhat overheated as a result, thus returning to the bath.  
Ranma resumed her original clothing, which she had washed with the  
assistance of some mild techniques of shih manipulation and some minor  
magic, and returned to the hallway to speak to Kasumi.  
  
"Oh! Ranma-san, is your training with Akane-imoutochan going well?"  
Kasumi asked calmly. She worried about the questions Ranma's story had  
raised, of course, but she did so quietly. It would never do to  
question a guest's truthfulness, but some kind of satisfaction must be  
gained. Perhaps Nabiki could provide confirmation of some kind.  
  
"Very well, Kasumi-san. Exceedingly well, in fact. I retain the hope  
that Acchan will quickly rise to overtake my own skill level." (Nabiki  
and Kasumi shared a single thought, 'Nani!?') "But I did want to speak  
with you and Nabiki on a number of matters. The first of which involves  
her diet."  
  
"Oh, my! Will she be requiring special foods or drinks?" Kasumi was  
vaguely worried about this; Ranma-san had provided a significant fund  
towards household expenses, but if exotic foods were going to be  
joining the menu ....  
  
"No. In fact, just the reverse. A balanced and varied diet is best, but  
she _will_ be eating more than she has been; I would estimate about  
twice what was normal before."  
  
"Thank you for the warning, Ranma-san; I will adjust the amount I make  
accordingly," Kasumi said gravely.  
  
"Secondly," Ranma continued, "I will be involving Acchan in some  
activities that will be either odd-looking or even somewhat dangerous.  
I mention this because I am aware that the two of you have no  
particular reason to trust my judgement, nor any good way to acquire  
one. This is a problem that I wish to resolve quickly, and I would  
value any thoughts you might have on the matter."  
  
Kasumi winced, and Nabiki straightened. "I know," she said, "that we  
have to take your word for the conditions of Akane-chan's training,  
Ranma-san. I doubt if even Daddy has the experience to properly  
evaluate you in that area. The only thing I am concerned with is that  
your story is _so_ strange ...."  
  
"That you don't have any way to verify it. I understand, Nabiki-san." A  
pause as Ranma chewed her lip. "Tell me, Kasumi-san, have you begun  
preparations for dinner yet?"  
  
"Err. No, not really, Ranma-san. We don't usually eat until later."   
  
"Ah. Well, the problem is solved, then. Acchan will be coming out of  
the furo in a little while, and I've no doubt that she'll be hungry, so  
we'll simply go shopping. Yes." Ranma rubbed her chin. "You might want  
to change into kimonos, though."  
  
Nabiki and Kasumi blinked at the non-sequitur, 'Shopping?' but went off  
and changed anyway. When they returned they found Ranma with the Mirror  
in her hand, looking into it seriously.  
  
"Ahh, good," Ranma muttered, "the way is clear. Nabiki-san, Kasumi-san,  
I must be careful or you will over-shine me entirely."   
  
Kasumi blushed at the compliment, and Nabiki ahhed, "Ahh, Ranma-san,  
aren't you going to change too?"  
  
"Oh, no, they're used to me."  
  
"Oh, my," Kasumi said, "where are we going, Ranma-san?"   
  
"Well, I know a number of places," Ranma replied, "but I've a mood for  
Tai at the moment, so I thought we'd go to Okitsu."  
  
"Okitsu?" Nabiki queried, "That's a hundred miles away! Are you going  
to take a train just to get fish?"  
  
"Not a train, no," Ranma grinned, "and it's not miles we'll be  
traveling now." She raised the Mirror to chest height.  
  
"The past and future are the same,  
The present's merely but a game,  
A stage where players strut and stare,  
Nanban Mirror, take us _there_!"  
  
A breeze blew softly through the suddenly empty hall.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Akane stretched again, rubbing her hair dry with a towel. She had  
stayed in the tub for an indulgently long time, soaking off the  
bruises. Nonetheless, she could not remember a time when she had felt  
so good, or been so happy.   
  
She whistled happily as she dressed in the new clothes Ranma had gotten  
her, and indulged in a brief fantasy of training with Ranchan forever,  
getting better and better as the years passed and occasionally saving  
_her_ from some unspecified menace or other. In fact, she felt _so_  
good that ... yes, she felt that she _could_ do it this time. She would  
go see if Kasumi was in the kitchen, and then ... she'd cook Ranchan a  
meal! And she'd get Kasumi to help, and _this_ time, damn it, it would  
_work_!  
  
She wandered out of the furo and went toward the kitchen. Then she  
heard Kasumi calling "Tadaima!" and wondered where Oneechan had gone  
out to.   
  
She went to see and found Kasumi, Nabiki, and Ranma in the dining room,  
unloading an array of packages wrapped in rice paper or in little boxes  
from which rose a whole raft of delicious aromas. "Ohh! You went off  
and got dinner without me! I wanted to help cook. Wait a second;  
Oneechan, why are you and Nabiki-oneechan in kimonos?" Nabiki and  
Kasumi only gave her slightly shell-shocked looks as they wobbled  
upstairs to change and Akane put her hands on her hips and turned to  
her friend. "Ranchan! What'd you do now?"  
  
"Well, after all, Acchan, you can't get good kuri-shioyaki or  
kuri-kinton except from Seikenji chestnuts _I_ don't think. And you  
certainly can't get fresh salt-steamed Tai except in Okitsu." Ranma  
placed the browned, salted chestnuts next to their boiled cousins in  
their honey- sweetened bath of yams as the centerpiece of a rapidly  
growing spread of foods in which large plates of filleted Sea Bream,  
from which a truly mouth-watering smell was rising, figured  
prominently.   
  
Later, around the table, Akane leaned back and patted her stomach. "I  
must admit, Ranchan, that you were right. I had no idea I could eat a  
whole plate of that Tai, but ...." She gestured to her empty plate  
indicatively.   
  
Even Soun had been coaxed from his lair, and had praised the foods  
exhaustively. It was, he said, a clear example of the superiority of  
the true Japanese spirit; as had been strong in ancient times. Kasumi  
and Nabiki just shuddered faintly, Ranma merely grinned. And ate a  
great deal of everything in sight too, of course. But that goes without  
saying, for Ranma.   
  
And Kasumi nibbled at another slice of kamo-no-kuwanamaki, licking the  
sweet sauce off the broiled duck. And Nabiki munched another half-dozen  
boiled chestnuts. And Akane eyed a plate of uzura-dango, wondering if  
the sweet quail patties could actually be made to fit in her stomach.  
And the clouds closed in above Nerima, as the sun went down.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"What are we out here for, anyway, Ranchan? More clothing?" Akane leapt  
to another rooftop. The sky had darkened completely now, and the moon  
was hidden behind the ominous clouds, but streetlights provided  
adequate illumination.  
  
"No, no. We need to get some training supplies for the dojo though. And  
rectify a couple of glaring lapses in the armory, too. Now, if you were  
a criminal with a lot of money, where would you be? And if you say 'In  
the government,' Acchan, I'm going to hit you."  
  
"Hmm. Well, there's _something_ happening over there."  
  
"Let's take a look. Oh yes. Oh my yes, Acchan. That's a nice _big_ one.  
And in its natural habitat too, you'll notice. Let's sneak up on it,  
and see how it's doing, shall we?"  
  
"Oooh, oooh, can we lurk, instead, Ranchan? I've always wanted to  
lurk."  
  
"If you want, Acchan, we can even skulk."  
  
"Oooh, goody."  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Akane vaulted over a leg sweep and kicked its perpetrator in the face  
as she went. Ranma's lessons of the day seemed to flow through her as  
she moved among the eight thugs she had chosen as her share, and bodies  
flew through the air, describing limp and sad rainbows in their haste  
to become one with the walls.   
  
A final slide sideways and twist, getting out of the way of a clumsy  
rush and intercepting it in the midriff with a backwards spin kick and  
it was done. Ranma's thugs, she noted, had been unconscious long enough  
to be half looted, already. 'Oh, well. Need to get faster, I guess. I  
wonder if that's a ki technique, or if it's some of her 'magic'? I  
suppose I should ask, at some point.'  
  
As they walked away from the heaps of unconscious bodies, Ranma  
remarked, "One million, forty thousand yen; that's only fifty thousand  
each. Pffff. Still, I guess you have to trade quality for quantity  
sometimes."  
  
"I still don't believe that street trash has so much cash on it, or  
such good stuff to fence, Ranchan."  
  
"It's the Ronin's Salvation, Acchan. Jobs may come, and patrons go, but  
street thugs shall be with us always; and if you ask them right,  
they're always willing to share."  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
We are brief Summer lightning,  
We are swift as swallows' flight.  
We are sparks that spiral upwards,  
In the darkness of the night.  
We are frost upon the window,  
We won't pass this way again,  
In the end only love remains.  
  
They had fenced the loot, and spent some time finding the supplies  
Ranma wanted. Then they had moved deeper into the warren of Nerima's  
Ginza, seeking for weapon sellers. They had laughed and sung snatches  
of song; whistled and bought candy and snacks; ignored the gathering  
clouds. Then they had sent the merchandise to the dojo by delivery, and  
taken to the air.  
  
Well who scattered these diamonds,   
Through the vault of Heaven?  
Who drew the curve of the magpie's wing?  
  
The wind questioned, and the flame responded. The bonfire summoned,and  
the breeze answered.  
  
Who shaped your face, and what made you love me?  
Where is the heart of every living thing?  
  
The rising wind commanded, and the snapping flame obeyed. The blaze  
flamed higher, and the wind grew with it, and fed it, and drove it on  
before.  
  
Well, I guess I don't know, and I don't care either.  
  
Wind roused flame to life, dancing from rooftop to walltop, leaping  
empty air from power line to telephone pole; caroling across the sky,  
feet dancing on nothing at all but air.  
  
I know you love me, how could it not be?  
  
Flame drew wind's reply, flickering along a ridged roof, alighting a  
moment on the tip of the roof of a fake pagoda, before blazing across  
forty yards of open air to set a warehouse roof alive and singing.   
  
And I am yours, now and forever,  
  
Feeding now from each other's power. Flinging melody and harmony one to  
the other. Changing and exchanging the lead, to join again in rising  
triumph at the last ...  
  
'Til my lips fall silent, and my eyes can't see.  
  
And the wind blew the flame into a wildfire...  
  
We are brief Summer lightning,  
We are swift as swallows' flight.  
We are sparks that spiral upwards,  
In the darkness of the night.  
  
And the wildfire whipped the wind into a storm.  
  
We are frost upon the window,  
We won't pass this way again,  
In the end Dear, only love remains.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
And later, in the hush after midnight, when both Ranma and Akane were  
long asleep, the clouds over Nerima opened, and the quiet rain began to  
fall. A still, silver curtain, walling off the near from the far;  
softening the silhouettes of wall and cornice; filling streams and  
watering parks and hedges; sending small animals into hiding, and pets  
into shelter; cleansing the stains in the yard of Furinkan and washing  
the blood away.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Next:   
Ranma and Akane: A Love Story  
Chapter 4: Tapestry of Shadows  
Part A: Requiem for Solo Voice  
  
Also look for the first RAALS Side Arc: Training Sequence, which occurs  
at about this time.  
  
Author's Notes:   
  
Okay, this marks the middle of the first arc. Wheeeee. Ahem.   
  
Short prologue, sorta, but Sayuri continues to develop. I swear that I  
did not know that she was a hero when I started this mess. It surprised  
me completely.  
  
Akane's martial arts problems are caused by her own laziness as much as  
anything, I think. In the manga, she seems to have a great liking for  
'special bonuses' that don't involve actually having to change the way  
she does things where the Art is concerned. So, in this fic, I'm not  
gonna let her slack. Heh.  
  
The main part of Point of Contact is another stylistic variation,  
playing on Ranma telling a story within the story. I'm trying to get  
across some of the degree to which Ranma has matured here from that  
which he is more normally seen in. It also, I think, provides something  
of a sense of the areas in which he _has not_ matured, and also the  
degree to which that very maturity, so to speak, is causing problems of  
its own.  
  
Also, if you thought what Ranma did to the boys in this chapter was  
cruel, you should have seen what the initial plot had him doing. Nasty.  
  
Then we get the Big Fight Scene. I think it does very well, for what it  
is. I only want to point out that Akane and others get as much or more  
play than Ranma does, and Ranma doesn't get to prove herself much of a  
hero. This is intentional, just in case that wasn't clear before.  
  
The third part was originally two parts, which were both much larger.  
In fact, I ran on. I have tried to put my tendency to blabber on a  
reducing diet in this release. To compensate, most of Ranma's back-  
story, and a lot of talking heads about martial arts and how the world  
works here have been spun off into side area, Telling Stories and  
Training Sequence, respectively. These side areas will be continued  
throughout the story as I find the need.  
  
'Til Next,  
Eric Hallstrom 01/16/2001  



	4. A Tapestry of Shadows

Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only swinging on  
the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found  
them and please don't feed the Trolls.  
  
"Media Vita" ("In the Midst of Life") and "A Sto'r Mo Chroi'" ("Darling  
of my Heart" or "The American Wake") are Traditional. I'm using them as  
such. "The Enfolding" is copyright by Garnet Rogers; "Annie's Song" is  
John Denver's, and John Denver's alone. (Of course he's dead, but ...).  
  
This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/  
  
Release 1.2 (Dec. 04, 2000)  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma and Akane: A Love Story  
Chapter 4: A Tapestry of Shadows  
Part A: Requiem for Solo Voice  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The memorials had taken six days to organize. Formalities, autopsies  
and such, would have been enough difficulty for any reasonable person;  
unfortunately, this was Furinkan, and reasonable people were thin on  
the ground.  
  
The details had been worked out, finally, by Nabiki -- the school's  
'consensus' had turned to her more or less by default -- who had drawn  
Ranma, Akane, and Kasumi deeply into the planning.  
  
One of the biggest problems had been a simple question of protocols.  
The Furinkan district of Nerima was 'blest' not only with more than ten  
times the percentage of practicing or committed Christians than that  
normal for Japan, but also a substantial minority of persons for whom  
Shinto must serve in death as it had in life.   
  
(Under normal circumstances, of course, Shinto is not consulted about  
the impure and ritually polluted concerns of death and the dead. But  
this _is_ Nerima, and Nerima is a weird place.)  
  
The only things that everyone _could_ agree on was that; one, the  
students who had studied and played together should be remembered  
together, and, two, that the business should be taken care of as  
quickly as possible lest the hanging ill-luck should reduce the chances  
of those still lying injured in the area hospitals.  
  
Past that, the factions and sub-factions were locked in a state of very  
un-Japanese disunity. Nabiki explained to Ranma that Nerima was noted  
for the degree to which its inhabitants tended to fixate on their pet  
obsessions. Ranma noted that fanaticism made accord difficult, and  
speculated on methods of conflict resolution.  
  
Eventually, Nabiki simply decreed a compromise. Since Nabiki was well-  
known at Furinkan, and since Ranma had been spending time frowning  
ferociously, the decree was assented to with remarkable speed.  
  
Due to the widely disparate nature of the religious obligations  
involved, Nabiki had decided that the actual services for each victim  
should be held privately. Furthermore, since actual burial would not,  
of course, be possible, that there would be a mass memorial held  
instead, during which priests or monks of the various orders would  
observe certain basic rites. Fortunately, there was a local Shinto  
shrine priestess, one Sakuranbou Sakura, who was used to weird  
requests.  
  
There would also be music from the Furinkan Choir, and memorial  
displays for each of the deceased would be proffered for reverence and  
remembrance. This was to be done during a procession of grief, which  
would be held in some appropriate public place.  
  
At that point Kuno Tatewaki had surprised the whole ward with an  
unexpectedly generous offer. Nerima (very unusually for a Japanese  
city, not to mention a ward of Tokyo) has a public cemetery. It is  
limited in space of course, and normally requires both a significant  
fee and a significant lead time to reserve a plot there. The Kuno  
family, as it turned out, possessed a moderate piece of it as an  
ancestral holding. Tatewaki ordered a medium-ish piece of this holding  
set aside to hold permanent memorial markers for his fallen  
schoolmates.  
  
Not even a medium piece of the Kuno holdings at the cemetery would be  
enough for the bodies actually to be _buried_ there, of course, but the  
prospect of having a permanent, public marker filled the school as a  
whole with a most unaccustomed warmth for the once-annoying young man.  
  
Akane was so pleased that she broke down and kissed him on the cheek on  
the spot. This reduced him to a gape-mouthed shock, which induced Ranma  
to kiss him likewise, which sent him into instant unconsciousness.  
Which caused Ranma to tease Akane for the next several weeks. But you  
can't have everything.   
  
Ranma and Akane, although not part of the choir, had consulted with it  
to aid in choosing appropriate music. Since it had been necessary to  
schedule rites by Shinto, Buddhist and Christian priests, it had been  
decided to use a Christian hymn, but adapt and translate it to a more  
Japanese mien. This had been done.   
  
It had also been decided that Akane and Ranma should escort the bearers  
of the memorial displays to their resting place, but not carry any  
themselves.   
  
Finally, the weather service had been consulted to select a day free of  
the sudden constant rain; but Ranma had advised them that no such day  
was likely until the whole business was over, and so the time had been  
set.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"No, Kasumi-san," Ranma said, "I understand your concern. Indeed, I  
share it. The only problem is, Jei-san has never been squeamish about  
involving other people than his 'targets'. In fact, he has taken  
hostages to force a confrontation before. So I do not feel that simply  
being elsewhere is sufficient to assure Furinkan or Nerima's escape  
from his further attentions. More the reverse, actually."  
  
"I understand, Ranma-san. Still, I feel that _something_ must be done.  
It is unharmonious to simply await possible catastrophe."   
  
"I agree completely, Kasumi-san. I have already begun to apply myself  
to the creation of various weapons and wards against such evil. Also, I  
have created several of these."   
  
Ranma offered Kasumi a small origami goose. Kasumi accepted the item  
and examined it closely, observing the kanji inked in many colors by a  
neat, precise hand onto the paper of which it was composed. To her  
untutored eye they appeared to be of a protective or spiritual nature,  
calling on the Amida Buddha and a selection of beneficent Shinto  
deities for aid.  
  
"Is it a ward, Ranma-san? A protective influence?"  
  
"Only in a manner of speaking, Kasumi-san; it is, more precisely, an  
alarm. If Jei-san or any equivalent evil impinges on Nerima again, this  
charm and the others like it will give warning; firstly by reacting  
physically to his approach, and secondly by transmitting a warning to  
their creator, i.e. me. The pattern of warnings I receive should alert  
me to the location of the problem, hopefully before it gains its full  
strength."  
  
"I shall pray and sacrifice for your success in this matter, Ranma-san.  
Please also try to protect my younger sister."  
  
"I shall do so to the limits of my capability and her honor, Kasumi-  
san, I assure you."  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Now a double column of Furinkan students marched up the hill towards  
the cemetery , under a steady, moderate rain. The first seventeen pairs  
held between them a line of seventeen fine wooden chests. Each chest  
held one of the memorial displays that the school and the victim's  
families had hurriedly assembled.   
  
To the left Akane, in black vest, shirt and pants, and wearing a black  
trench coat and hat, paralleled the line with a slow, sad, steady pace.  
To the right, Ranma, identically dressed except for her ever-present  
white silk scarf and lack of hat, did likewise, her scarlet hair  
darkened by the rain, which ran off its end in a steady stream down the  
back of her coat. Behind them all, Furinkan's one decent drummer was  
beating a slow, mournful *tap tap tap*, barely audible over the patter  
of the falling rain.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Your sister is worried about you. She seems to feel that you're going  
to start going out monster hunting and get yourself hurt."   
  
"Well, I don't have any real interest in _hunting_ monsters, Ranchan."  
Akane said mildly. "Just as long as they keep to themselves and don't  
come around and try to kill my classmates or the like."  
  
"But what," Ranma assumed a whimsical tone, "if they come around and  
only try to _maim_ your classmates instead?"  
  
"You know perfectly well what I mean. Now hush, you."  
  
"Yes, Acchan. Of course, Acchan. Don't hurt me, Acchan."   
  
"Unprincipled bully."  
  
"Uncommitted slacker."  
  
"One of these days, I'm going to _get_ you."  
  
"Promises, promises. On another topic, we need to keep track of the  
wounded. See how they're doing and if they're healing well.  
Particularly Sayuri-chan and that girl who kept you from getting  
spitted."   
  
Akane shuddered, "Yeah, I owe her big-time." She chewed her lower lip  
meditatively for a few moments, "We ought to talk to Dr. Tofu, I bet he  
can get us the info, or at least get us access."  
  
"Dr. Tofu?"  
  
"He's our family doctor; both GP and chiropractic. I had a huge crush  
on him last year."  
  
"But you're over him now and not disappointed at all, ne?"   
  
"Well ... mostly; but everyone knew he was completely gaga over  
Kasumi-oneechan anyway, so .... Hey! Wait a minute... why, you...."   
  
Her only answer was Ranma's silver laughter as the redhead retreated  
around the corner faster than Akane could follow. In laughing pursuit,  
Akane pounded down the street yelling, "Come back here, you!"   
  
Rounding another corner she was surprised by a flying sneak tickle  
attack that quickly rendered her hors de combat, with Ranma lounging  
beside her and smirking, "And the lesson for today, Acchan, is?"   
  
"Make your combat stance your everyday stance and your everyday stance  
your combat stance." To Ranma's raised eyebrow she sighed, and added,  
"And my sensei's a bully." Ranma raised a hand in preparation for  
another attack, "Alright! Alright! 'And don't sass the sensei.'"   
  
"Exactly."  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
As the officiating priests (and priestess) finished the rites there  
came a hush, filling the cemetery with a silence that the ever-present  
rain merely intensified. The combined student body seemed to hover, as  
though they wished to put out a hand and pat their fallen comrades on  
the shoulder, or urge them on to class one last time. Then the hush was  
broken by the voice of the lead singer of the Choir.  
  
Media vita in morte summus,  
Quem quaerimus adjutorum nisite Domine?  
Que pro peccatis nostris justeira sceris.  
  
Sanctus,  
Sancte fortis,  
Sancte misericors Domine,  
Amarae morti ne tradas nos.  
In te speraverunt patres nostri:  
Speraverunt et liberasti eos.  
  
Requiem aeterna dona eis Domine,  
Et lux perpetua luceat eis.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Why hello, Akane-chan. I didn't see you at Furinkan, I'm glad you  
weren't injured."  
  
"Only a few scrapes and bruises, Tofu-sensei. This is my sensei in the  
Art, Bushiko Ranma."   
  
Ranma and Dr. Tofu shook hands. "We had wondered, Tofu-sensei, if you  
had any information on the status of the injured, especially Asano  
Sayuri-san, and Kuno Tatewaki's sister."  
  
"Yes, Ranma-san, I have been keeping up a bit; particularly on the  
patients I attended. Most are healing nicely, at the moment, but Kuno-  
san was very badly hurt; it will take her several weeks just to recover  
enough to leave the hospital. As for Asano-san, the last I heard, she  
was healing nicely from the physical trauma, but has shown no signs of  
coming out of her coma."  
  
"Do you think we might obtain permission to visit them, Tofu-sensei?"   
  
"I can't see why not, Ranma-san. They're in Nerima General...."   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Then the second singers came in on descant, leading from basses to  
sopranos as the second set of verses went by in rounds. Finally, the  
third singers chimed in , in Japanese, as the seconds combined their  
rounds into a single, blurred chorus.  
  
Media vita in morte summus,  
{[Media vita in morte summus,]}  
In the midst of life we are in death,  
Quem quaerimus adjutorum nisite Domine?  
{[Quem quaerimus, adjutorum nisite Domine?]}  
Whom do we seek for aid unless You, Lord?  
Que pro peccatis nostris justeira sceris.  
{[Que pro peccatis nostris justeira sceris.]}  
Who because of our sins are justly angry at us.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Kuno Kodachi stirred weakly in her hospital bed, and pressed her  
brother's hand.   
  
Real life had turned out to not work like she had thought it did. She  
wondered how many other things she had been mistaken on.   
  
Then the door opened, and two girls came into the room. The first, she  
saw, was the redhead who had kept the monster from skewering her; the  
second she knew as Tendo Akane, and seemed to recall a blurred  
impression of her also protecting her and her brother from death.   
  
'Such a great mistake to make,' she thought regretfully, 'it's  
embarrassing.'   
  
Ranma walked to the bed and surveyed Kodachi's visible injuries. Her  
face was marked by a bandage covering the left side, beneath which  
Ranma sensed a burn, which seemed to have been caused by a mingling of  
fire, acid and something poisonous. She nodded in confirmation of her  
suspicions, 'Yin shih charged spirit fire. That's going to _hurt_.'   
  
Ranma grinned crookedly at Kodachi and accepted a weak smile in return,  
"A piece of advice, lass. _First_ you take them down; _then_ you rant  
at them. Timing is important."  
  
Kodachi managed a breathy chuckle, "I shall follow your advice most  
closely, Ranma-san. Assuming I ever again get the chance."   
  
"Oh, I think that between us we can get you up and functioning again.  
Akane-san and I both owe you a debt after all. Have they given you a  
schedule of rehabilitation exercises, yet?"  
  
"No, Ranma-san, I believe they have yet to complete their schedule of  
surgery, and...."  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Sanctus,  
{[Sanctus,]}  
Holy one,  
Sancte fortis,  
{[Sancte fortis,]}  
Holy powerful one,  
Sancte misericors Domine,  
{[Sancte misericors Domine,]}  
Holy compassionate Lord,  
Amarae morti ne tradas nos.  
{[Amarae morti ne tradas nos.]}  
Do not hand us over to bitter death.  
In te speraverunt patres nostri:  
{[In te speraverunt patres nostri:]}  
In you our fathers placed their hopes:  
Speraverunt et liberasti eos.  
{[Speraverunt et liberasti eos.]}  
They placed their hopes, and You freed them.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma drew Tatewaki aside from where Akane was visiting with Kodachi  
and lowered her voice. "You understand, Tatewaki-san, that even under  
the best of circumstances your sister will have to totally rearrange  
her life?" Tatewaki nodded, solemnly. "Akane-san and I will assist her,  
of course, but the primary burden will fall on her family."  
  
"We have no family save each other," Tatewaki said grimly, "I shall  
...." Suddenly he looked down at his folded hands and bit his lip.   
  
"Ranma-san, you enjoined me to mend my soul ere I again called myself a  
Samurai." Ranma raised an eyebrow and nodded. "I feel that ... this  
challenge to my house requires the services of a Samurai, and I ....  
You enjoined me to mend my soul, Ranma-san, but I do not know how. Will  
you ...?"  
  
Ranma caught his eyes with her own for several seconds, looking deep  
within as though to see the state of his soul for herself. Then she  
nodded contemplatively, "Well, I don't suppose that it's much harder to  
heal two than to heal one. We will endeavor, in one way or another."   
  
"Thank you, Ranma-sensei."   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Requiem aeterna dona eis Domine,  
{[Requiem aeterna dona eis Domine,]}  
Rest eternal grant them, Lord,  
Et lux perpetua luceat eis.  
{[Et lux perpetua luceat eis.]}  
And perpetual Light shine upon them.  
  
Media vita in morte summus,  
{[Media vita in morte summus,]}  
In the midst of life we are in death,  
Quem quaerimus adjutorum nisite Domine?  
{[Quem quaerimus, adjutorum nisite Domine?]}  
Whom do we seek for aid unless You, Lord?  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The hospital room was quiet. Ranma stood by Sayuri's bedside and placed  
her hand, palm down, on her forehead. She frowned meditatively for a  
moment, then stepped aside and waved for Akane to try.   
  
Akane assumed the same position and concentrated. She did not reach a  
conclusion with anything like the same speed, and spent several minutes  
locked in struggle with her perceptions. Finally she frowned, stepped  
back, and spoke. "Ranchan, her body ki feels like it's in good shape,  
but I can't find her mind or spirit at all. It's like there's a fog, or  
a wall, or something."  
  
Ranma nodded, grimly, "Yeah. I get that too. My guess is that either  
she retreated into herself to escape whatever Jei-san did to her, or  
that she's being chained."  
  
"Chained, Ranchan?"  
  
"Yah. Jei or Somebody could have, err, locked up her mind's ki, so to  
speak. And in that case she won't get better unless somebody goes and  
rescues her."  
  
"Somebody."  
  
"Somebody, for instance, who is not you. On account of you are Not Yet  
Ready."  
  
"Oh, of course not. I wouldn't even dream of it," Akane replied in a  
bland, even voice.  
  
Ranma, preoccupied, missed the signs completely.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
After the choir had finished, Ranma stepped forward. Akane had wanted  
to assist her, but had proven incapable of learning the song quickly  
enough -- couched as it was in a mixture of Gaelic and English -- and  
so Ranma had diffidently asked if she might give the dead honor on her  
own. The request had, of course, been acceded to, by acclamation. And  
so Akane stood solemnly behind her teacher and, along with the rest of  
the crowd, was swept away.  
  
A sto'r mo chroi', when you're far away  
From the home that you'll soon be leaving,  
'Tis many the time, by night and by day,  
That your heart will sorely be grieving.  
For the stranger's land it is bright and fair,  
And rich in treasures golden,  
But you'll pine I know for the long, long ago,  
And the love that never is olden.  
  
A sto'r mo chroi', in the stranger's land,  
There is plenty of wealth for the willing.  
Where jewels adorn the great and the grand,  
While our faces with hunger are paling.  
Yet the road may be toilsome, and hard to tread,  
And the lights of their cities may blind you.  
Then turn a sto'r, to the eastern shore,  
And the ones that you're leaving behind you.  
  
A sto'r mo chroi', when the evening mists,  
O'er Mountain and Sea are falling,  
Then turn aside from the throng and list'  
And maybe you'll hear me calling.  
For the sound of a voice that I sorely miss,  
For somebody's quick returning,  
Ohh! A ru'n, a ru'n, won't you come back soon,  
To the love that always is burning?  
  
As she sang, Ranma gathered power to herself; building an aura of blue  
and gold light that flared and grew, until at the climax of her song  
she seemed as a pillar of living flame.   
  
When she finished her requiem she stood momentarily motionless, burning  
like a star against the unceasing gray rain; and then she flared her  
aura and sent it out and up, like a great cry of rage against the dying  
of the light.   
  
And then the undertakers stepped forward, and lifted their spades, and  
the first clods of earth pattered down on the coffins, the sound  
muffled by the flowers that still bedecked their tops. And the mourners  
turned, and slowly walked away, Ranma and Akane last. And in the skies  
above Nerima the rain began to lighten, and the clouds began to part at  
last.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma and Akane: A Love Story  
Chapter 4: A Tapestry of Shadows  
Part B: Sunday Service  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
It is sunday morning ... _early_ sunday morning ... the sky still dark,  
in the darkest hours before the light of the new day.   
  
Ranma's apartment, like all the others in her building, is dark; that  
should not, however, be construed to mean that Ranma is asleep.  
Contrariwise, she is wide awake, sitting seiza in girl form in the  
middle of her main room, surrounded by a litter of books, papers,  
vials, beakers, boxes, racks, small pieces of metal or wood or wire,  
and a great quantity of objects which can only be classified as  
miscellanea.  
  
No diagram hangs in the air before the window, no mysterious liquids  
drip in shadowed corners, no air of arcane secrets prevails.  
Nonetheless, magic is being made. Magic of the best and most useful  
sort: prosaic magic.   
  
In front of Ranma sits a pile of small pieces of rice paper; next to  
them is a set of inkstones, bearing ink of many hues, and a matching  
set of pens. To one side is a completed set of small origami geese,  
patiently waiting their time. Ranma's attention, though, is not on the  
geese; instead, she turns a small piece of jade over in her hands,  
staring at it with a faint air of puzzlement.   
  
It is carved in the likeness of a nightingale, but this has been the  
case for centuries, and would not seem to be cause for puzzlement.  
  
Casually, Ranma reaches her hand to the side and picks a scroll out of  
a pile of similar writings. She places the jade nightingale carefully  
in front of her and unrolls the scroll, skimming at first, and then  
carefully reading one section. Then she moves on in the scroll,  
skimming the rest before returning to several sections to scrutinize  
them closely, rolling the scroll back and forth several time to  
cross-reference some point or other.   
  
Then she rerolls the scroll and places it back into its place before  
rising quickly to her feet, rapidly gathering the litter from the floor  
and replacing it in the foot-locker. The geese she puts aside, laying  
them on the table in the kitchen.   
  
The jade bird remains sitting enigmaticly where she left it. Although,  
to be honest, sitting where you leave it can not truly be considered  
enigmatic behavior for a jade figurine. This is, after all, what they  
do all the time; inanimation is a hard habit to give up.  
  
Ranma finishes her clean-up and returns to sit seiza before the still  
immobile figurine. Then she reaches out and takes it into her hands,  
resting it in the valley of her cupped palms as she sinks deeply into  
trance. And the minutes pass, fleeing like frightened minnows, as Ranma  
adjusts her perception, looking Without, and then Within - Within the  
jade bird cupped in her hands, and Within herself as well.   
  
Before her inward turned gaze she sees a tracery of fire, outlining  
blocks of softly luminescent patterns; patterns that, for those with  
eyes to see them, set out the precise details of the existence of any  
given object.   
  
This one, for instance, tells of the details for the jade figurine in  
Ranma's hand. See the patterns that mark out its shape, and color;  
trace the lines that tell of texture, chemical composition, mass and  
density; observe the lack of any pattern that would indicate life, or  
growth, or change.   
  
It is not unusual for there to be such a lack; after all, the figurine  
isn't alive. And yet ... yet within its structure it still possesses  
the energies of life. And yet within its patterns it follows the living  
patterns of the bird which is its model. And yet, somehow, locked in  
never-living stone, there still exists a living bird: awaiting life,  
longing for freedom, patient as a stone.   
  
Patient, as it has had to be patient, since the day so long ago when it  
first was carved. Waiting, as it has had to wait since the day when  
first it coalesced from primordial ore and silicates. Longing, as it  
had longed since the first human hand had touched it, since its shape  
had taken form, since it had become like life, but not alive.   
  
And Ranma hears the longing in her blood, knows the waiting in her  
bones, feels the patience down all the endless years in nerves and  
heart and soul.   
  
And reaches out a mental hand, and presses a metaphorical button,  
because, sometimes, patience _does_ have its reward.   
  
And a spring wound by a thousand years of longing unwinds.   
  
And in her hand the nightingale shakes its carven feathers into place,  
and stretches and spreads its stony wings, and hurls itself into the  
waiting air, and raises its voice -- at last, at last -- in song.  
  
For a moment Ranma follows the jade bird's ecstatic flight with a proud  
smile, but then she notes the music the joyful bird is raising to  
heaven, a tune slower and simpler than expected, a tune, she suddenly  
realizes, that she knows. And her smile turns wistful, and a golden  
contralto softly joins a jade fountain of song.  
  
Deep within this softly moonlit night   
we awoke, to find our   
Loves' sweet expression   
unfolding of its own accord.  
A touch in gentle sleepiness,   
a fingertip, a pressing lip  
The kindness of our bodies,   
speaking softly in the dark.   
  
Our love began so tentative;   
a smiling eye, a voice soft-spoken  
Touching in a way our lives   
had never quite been met.  
The quiet grave acceptance  
of the truth within each other,  
The meeting of two people,  
man and woman for all time.   
  
So in this night our love unfolds,  
your body is akin to mine.  
Another half once left behind  
in generations long ago.  
To finally meet together,  
in a silent true immersion.  
The natural culmination  
of a love we can't define.  
  
And this loving is a drawing close,  
a turning in, an opening  
Until one perfect moment;  
but how can it be expressed?  
A receiving, and enfolding  
as I cradle you in my arms.  
Within my heart, within my soul,  
You are my true love.  
  
The nightingale circuits the room and lands on Ranma's outstretched  
finger, throat pouring forth a torrent of song. Ranma listens for a  
moment, still smiling wistfully, then chuckles. "It's all very well for  
_you_ to say. You don't have to deal with it."   
  
Music. "'Man and woman for all time', _that's_ the problem."   
  
Music. "Because she's straight, you silly bird. And she thinks I'm a  
girl."   
  
Music. "Yeah, that _could_ be done, I suppose. But there's one problem.  
_I_ want 'man and woman' too, and if you say anything about Nannichuan  
I'll ...." Music. "Be her friend. What else is there?"   
  
Music: a sharp, brief stanza. "Love is ... not a good idea. Besides,  
there's Oyaji, remember? If he hasn't found an engagement for me I'll  
eat my hat. It'll be enough of a miracle if she's at all suitable.  
Hell, it'll be something of a miracle if she's _human_. Love is too  
much to hope for."   
  
Music. "Because _it won't work_, damn it. It hurts enough as it is."   
  
Music: a rich tapestry of interweaving harmonies. "Oh _well_. In _that_  
case, yes, _then_ it would work. Of course, that won't happen ... but  
_if_ it did, then yes."   
  
Music: a joyous trill, fading into a sleepy purl. A stretching, a  
shake, a nestling down to rest; and a small jade figurine, a  
nightingale asleep, is cupped in the hollow of Ranma's palm.   
  
Patiently waiting for a spring to wind itself again; content now, in a  
sense, but still longing for the day when it can again unwind itself  
... and fly ... and sing.   
  
And Bushiko Ranma looks down into the hollow of her hand, and says,  
very gently, "Silly bird."  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma and Akane: A Love Story  
Chapter 4: A Tapestry of Shadows  
Part C: Sonata for Flute  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Tendo Akane woke very early, just before sunrise. She quickly dressed,  
intending to get in some practice before breakfast. Going out of her  
room, she first stopped in the kitchen. "Ohayo, Kasumi-oneechan; I'm  
going to the dojo to practice; would you call me when breakfast is  
ready please?"  
  
"Ohayo gozaimasu, Akane-chan. Ranma-san is already in the dojo. She  
asked me to make you this snack, to eat before you train." Kasumi gave  
Akane a small plate, holding a pair of rice balls and a small filet of  
fish.  
  
*blinkblink* "Ranchan's _here_? _Already_? Augh! I'm late! She'll think  
I'm slacking!"   
  
A wind blew through the kitchen as the screen *whooshed* with Akane's  
passage, leaving the plate hanging in mid-air. It *whiished* as Akane  
reappeared, catching the plate and gulping down the food in a blur. It  
*whooshed* again as Akane vanished through the abused screen leaving  
the now clean plate hanging in mid-air; only to *whiish* as she  
reappeared, catching the plate before it could fall and placing it  
gently in the sink before *whoosh*ing out the screen again; followed by  
a *thump* as the screen was sucked off its track and fell over.   
  
A *shhhk* announced Akane's sliding stop, followed by a black-haired  
head that slowly inched its way back into the picture. Akane gave  
Kasumi a nervous smile before picking the screen up off the ground and  
placing it gingerly back into place. She patted it timidly, then took  
several cautious, silent steps away before vanishing dojo-wards again  
with a dopplered wail of, "Auugh! I'm Late!"  
  
Kasumi blinked at the screen slowly. It somberly toppled over with a  
somehow triumphant *thud* and broke into several pieces. Kasumi blinked  
again before lowering her face into her hands and shaking her head. "Oh  
... dear."  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
We are brief Summer lightning,  
We are swift as swallows' flight.  
We are sparks that spiral upwards,  
In the darkness of the night.  
We are frost upon the window,  
We won't pass this way again,  
In the end only love remains.  
  
Akane skidded to a halt as she entered the dojo and dropped her jaw in  
shock. The formerly empty practice floor was covered by piles of  
cinder-blocks in a similar manner to those she had used to practice  
with, (was it less than a week ago, or was it a lifetime?) the first  
morning After Ranma.   
  
Ranma was stacking them into tall piles and had apparently been at work  
on a number of the piles she had already stacked, because they had been  
shaped in some manner into vaguely human form. How she had managed it  
Akane couldn't imagine, but she supposed that the trick of shaping  
cinder-blocks must be a fairly simple one after some of the things she  
had seen Ranma do.  
  
Akane watched as Ranma finished stacking her latest pile and withdrew  
her fan from her sleeve. Then Ranma raised her hand above the top of  
the concrete pile and snapped the fan open.  
  
That pair in the corner,  
They're here every Tuesday  
They come when the market   
first open its stalls.  
And it's got so that lately  
I'll wait just to see them  
Their heads bent together,  
As they come down the hall.  
  
And her hair has grown whiter  
His has grown thinner,  
And their pace has slowed down  
As the years have grown long.  
But they keep step together  
'Mongst strangers who hurry,  
These two old companions,  
Walking slowly along.  
  
Ranma's fan flashed around and through the pile of blocks as she sang,  
and before Akane's eyes a pile of rectangular blocks was shaped,  
flexed, carved and melted into another humanoid shape.  
  
"Ohayo, Ranchan. How are you doing that?"  
  
"Ohayo, Acchan. Let me finish a couple more so we have half of them  
done and I'll show you."  
  
"Let me help stack."  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Okay, now here we have a pile of cinder-blocks, right?"   
  
"Umm. Yeah. Looks like that to me, yep." Akane nodded happily, and  
looked at Ranma with wide eyes.  
  
"Stop that. Besides, for the purpose of this explanation, you're wrong.  
What we have here is a pile of patterns of energy. A set of shapes  
defined by ch'i and, in this case, mostly free of shih."  
  
Akane squinted to slip into othersight, "That's the same thing though,  
right, Ranchan?"  
  
"Not quite, no. See, if it was a pile of concrete blocks, then there'd  
be no way to do anything with it. Concrete blocks are concrete blocks,  
ne? But! If it's a collection of patterns of ch'i, then I can use  
_this_," she flourished the fan, "which is _also_ a pattern of ch'i, to  
change what the patterns say.   
  
"Now watch. I take the fan, and I feed shih from my ki into it, see?"  
Akane nodded. "Now, I use the shih to 'spread' the ch'i of the blocks.  
And now that I've got them in shape to be changed ...." The upper  
portion of the pile was quickly reduced to the shape of a crudely  
fashioned head. "Now you try."  
  
Akane dubiously took the fan from Ranma, and focused her othersight on  
the concrete. Sinking into a trance, she sent shih rushing into the  
fan, filling it with crackling tubes of light. She attempted to insert  
the fan into the concrete but met with resistance. Withdrawing the fan,  
she 'looked' at it, altering the shape and frequency of the power  
filling it to something closer to what she had seen Ranma use and then  
tried again.   
  
A few attempts later, the fan began to sink into the concrete, but  
stopped less than an inch in, having apparently run into something.  
Frowning slightly, Akane flexed her fingers, preparatory to changing  
the shih flow one more time. The flex caused the fan to open slightly.  
The pile exploded into dust, knocking her head over heels backward into  
the wall of the dojo.  
  
Ranma tapped her chin meditatively, "Well ... it's a start."   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
  
...*boom* ... *boom* ... *boom* ...   
  
Tendo Nabiki was a heavy sleeper, particularly on Sunday. Nonetheless,  
repeated muffled explosions could waken even her. Blearily she wandered  
into the kitchen, where Kasumi intercepted her with a request to inform  
Ranma and Akane that breakfast was ready.   
  
Not particularly in a good mood she wandered through the house to the  
dojo and opened the door. Strewn about the once-polished dojo floor her  
narrowed eyes observed a dozen or so piles of rubble, and the  
accountant in her bemoaned the cost in cinder-blocks that rubble  
represented. Meanwhile the sister in her was storing up a grievance,  
and the observer was watching with dropped jaw as her sister went after  
another pile of blocks in a seeming frenzy with ... a fan??!!   
  
A most puissant fan, she noted; it was carving pieces of cinder-block  
off the pile like a ginsu knife slicing tomatoes. Akane finished  
carving concrete with what passed for a flourish, and stepped back from  
the now human shaped pile with a gasp of exhaustion and a whirl of  
triumph.   
  
"Ha!, Ha!, See, Ranchan, I told you I had it this time!"  
  
Ranma tapped her chin in silence and Akane turned to her in irritation,  
"Well ... what's wrong with it?"   
  
She was answered by a sound as of flowing sand as the concrete gave up  
its bondage to solidity and dissolved into dust, a few small pieces of  
somewhat more resilient mien falling through the pile to *ping* off the  
floor. Ranma raised an eyebrow in silence. Akane flushed beet-red and  
slumped to the floor in a heap, putting her head in her hands.  
  
"I don't think you've quite got that part quite down yet, Acchan."   
  
Akane *snff*ed from the floor.   
  
"Still. it _may_ be that you'll do better after a rest, ne? And I think  
Nabiki-san is here to announce breakfast." Ranma raised another  
eyebrow, at Nabiki this time.  
  
"Umm, yeah. Oneechan says it's ready, yes."  
  
Akane *snff*ed again and Ranma extended a hand to her. Akane grasped  
the hand and pulled herself up. She started to walk after Nabiki, but  
raised her head to where she could see the remaining uncarved, stacked  
cinder- block pile.   
  
Her head snapped up, her jaw firmed, and her shoulders straightened.  
She raised the fan and said, "No! I'm on the verge, I know it. Once  
more, and _this_ time I'm gonna do it right!"   
  
Then, suddenly, she grinned, "Hey, Ranchan, watch me pull a dummy out  
of a cinder-block!"  
  
"Aw, Acchan," Ranma squirreled, "that trick _never_ works!"   
  
"This time for sure!"  
  
Akane strode purposefully up to the untouched pile and stuck the fan an  
inch into the space where the head would be. Then her shoulders hunched  
and she gathered herself. The fan suddenly unfolded, and Akane seemed  
to go into a frenzy of fan blows; blurring about the pile, now to the  
left, now in back, as she stripped and melted concrete with each  
strike. After a minute of frantic effort she stepped back, panting in  
exhaustion and glaring at the shaped concrete, daring it to move in any  
way.  
  
Ranma stepped forward and flicked the dummy with her finger, nodding  
when it failed to immediately disintegrate. "Yep, I think that's got  
it." Then she pivoted gracefully, and caught Akane by the waist as the  
taller girl fainted with exhaustion, swinging her up into her arms. She  
carried Akane to the door and shrugged at Nabiki, "A little stubborn,  
maybe."   
  
Nabiki shook her head and walked ahead of Ranma into the dining room.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
After breakfast Ranma and Akane returned to the dojo. Ranma considered  
the dummies scattered about the room for a moment, and then turned back  
to Akane, putting her back to the dojo wall.   
  
"Well, you've proved that you can do basic ki movement, and also basic  
manipulations of other's chi. Now we move on a little. Using these  
skills, you can extend your capabilities in several ways. The first  
thing we'll talk about is an extension of what you just did with the  
fan. It's called ch'i disruption. When Jei attacked, did you notice  
what I did to the wall of the classroom he was in?"  
  
"Yah, Ranchan, I'd been meaning to ask you about it. You sort of ...  
waved at the wall? And it fell apart, is what it looked like."   
  
Ranma held up her right hand, outer fingers veed and inner fingers  
curled. "It's called The Butterfly's Kiss. What you do is send out a  
shih pulse from your hand. The pulse is set in a manner that disrupts  
the ch'i of any inanimate object that it hits. And once you've  
disrupted its ch'i of course, it falls apart."  
  
"What about living things, Ranchan?"  
  
"A good question, Acchan. Living targets are harder to affect. First,  
because their ki will tend to resist you messing with it; and second,  
because they have souls, which will keep them mostly intact even if you  
_do_ manage to mess with it. That said, however, there are versions of  
this move that will do nasty things to people, too.  
  
"Now you hold your hand like this ... and you feed shih from your ki  
like _this_ ... and you've got to keep in mind what the ch'i of the  
thing you're trying to affect looks like, 'cause you have to send a  
pulse that disrupts it, like so ...."  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Now the next thing we're going to look at is called shih-sheathing.  
This is a method of creating a sheath or shroud of moving or 'fluid'  
energy from your ki, and having it exist _separate_ from your ki for  
some period of time.   
  
"Now you've already done a variant of this with the fan, but the  
essence of the technique here is to be able to apply a sheath not only  
to yourself or something you're holding, but to things you've let go  
of, or even to non-physical things like a ch'i structure. And also to  
get the sheath to _last_ once you can't feed shih to it any more, of  
course."  
  
"You want me to use this set of throwing knives to practice on, right,  
Ranchan?"  
  
"To start with, yes."  
  
Akane concentrated on the knives in her hands, turning them over and  
over and watching the reflections. Slipping deeply into trance, she  
concentrated on the task of covering the blades with a 'web' of shih  
that did not immediately disintegrate when she released it.   
  
After several minutes of effort she had determined that the most  
important step was insuring that the outer web was both self-contiguous  
and anchored to a stable object and was attempting to work out a method  
for doing so. Abruptly, a warning instinct she hadn't previously known  
she had went off, sending her rolling sideways, away from the concrete  
fist that *thudd*ed into the dojo floor where she had been standing.   
  
Akane rolled to her feet in automatic reaction and slid sideways,  
dodging the blocky attacker's forceful rush and flicking a knife into  
its throat. The knife *ping*ed off concrete and Akane cursed herself  
for a fool, evading another cobra-quick attack by the animate statue  
and jumping for increased fighting room.   
  
She desperately reached for concentration to empower a better weapon  
and felt time slow as a sudden gestalt clicked into place. All at once  
she _knew_ the feel of a properly made sheath, knew the sight and sound  
and taste of it, and a sheath of shih set to penetrate solid rock  
snapped down over two of her remaining knives.  
  
These then flashed across the rapidly decreasing distance to her  
target, thudding into its throat and heart and sinking deep.  
Unfortunately, as her attacker was made of concrete instead of flesh  
and blood, this accomplished nothing.  
  
Akane threw off two butterfly's kiss strikes set for stone to no effect  
before she skidded sideways from a combination strike that would have  
pulped her like a rotten grapefruit and jumped over the return stroke,  
pushing off from her opponent's back into a long dive that staggered  
the towering bulk and won her twenty feet of space. Coming up from her  
dive into a forward roll, she stood and whirled, mind still in  
overdrive as she sought a way to deliver a ch'i disruption attack that  
would destroy her foe without making the fatal mistake of coming into  
its reach.  
  
Her racing thoughts quickly pruned her decision tree to the only  
possible solution and began to implement it as her opponent regained  
its balance and turned to the attack again. Akane wove the sheathe  
around the disruption pulse and anchored it to the knife, then set the  
knife to throw. Dodging forward to close past the range at which her  
opponent's speed would allow it to dodge, she threw the knife from just  
outside the reach of its arms.   
  
The knife flew straight to its target and sank deep into the concrete  
chest, but the desired result did not obtain. 'Shit! Ranchan _told_ me  
you couldn't do that to a living target! What was I thinking?' Akane  
folded into a forward roll under the closing arms, her mind still in  
hyper. 'I need to set the disruption-ch'i off, but how do I alter ...?  
I'll have to get close.'   
  
Akane came out of her roll inside the reach of her opponent's arms and  
launched herself immediately into a jump that put her in a position to  
be crushed by their rapidly closing grasp; but also in a position to  
touch the hilt of the knife, into which she channeled all the shih she  
had, funneling it directly into the disruption-web which drove the  
animating shih before it as it expanded.   
  
And then the web collapsed inward into the creature's chest, exploding  
it with sufficient force to knock Akane back into the wall of the dojo,  
smacking herself on the suddenly disconnected arms as she went by.  
  
From the side of the dojo, Ranma chuckled, "Well, that's _one_ way to  
do it ...."  
  
Limping slightly, Akane moved to the crumbled remains of the practice  
dummy and retrieved her knives. Giving the redhead a glare, Akane  
replied in a dangerously mild voice, "What were you expecting?"   
  
Smiling, Ranma put a hand on the dummies to either side. As they  
rumbled into life, she said, "Look at these two. What do you See?"   
  
Akane looked at the lumbering figures, and tried to see what Ranma  
might be referencing. All she saw was a tracery of shih. layered and  
interwoven, providing the energy necessary for the dummies to move.   
  
Suddenly she saw what her friend meant, and sent a knife winging into  
each dummy, hitting, and cutting, the 'knot' of energies that anchored  
the shih-web in stability. The loosed energies fled back into Ranma's  
ki and the suddenly inanimate dummies stopped moving.  
  
"Very good, Acchan. Now we'll try that a couple different ways...."   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
As Kasumi walked toward the dojo she worried, briefly, about cleaning.  
The training activities Nabiki had described sounded very messy to her,  
and she concerned herself with the question of just who was going to  
clean the result. It was important that the dojo show itself in good  
condition, after all; it reflected on the face of the dojo. And hence  
on her own honor.   
  
Not that she was eager to have to expend _yet more_ time in keeping up  
the condition of the Dojo and its constituents, mind you, but ....  
Honor was honor, after all. Still, it might be that there was _some_  
help to be had from ... other sources. Like Nabiki and Akane, for  
instance. Or even Ranma-san. It is part of a sensei's duty to insure  
the proper condition of the dojo, after all.  
  
Walking in through the door to the dojo proper she stopped abruptly and  
gaped. The alteration in the dojo's countenance had been ... extreme. A  
half-dozen concrete or stone statues loomed menacingly around the dojo  
wall. A wide selection of dark spots, scorches, dents and holes now  
decorated the dojo's walls and floor. And a large pile of dust and  
debris was growing in the center of the floor where Akane and Ranma  
were sweeping it with brooms.   
  
Well ... Akane was sweeping with a broom; Ranma was ... shooing the  
debris along, _and it was moving!_ 'And to think,' she despaired, 'all  
these years and _I've_ been doing it the _hard_ way!'  
  
"Ohayo, Kasumi-san," Ranma chirped, "we're almost finished here. I'm  
just giving Acchan a lesson in practical magic." Ranma crossed her arms  
and leaned against the dojo wall next to the door to the house. Akane  
finished sweeping the floor and turned to Ranma questioningly.   
  
"Okay, Acchan, now we have two things to do to return the dojo to good  
condition. First, we must remove that pile of trash. Second, we have to  
fix the walls and floor."  
  
"Umm, yeah." Akane flushed guiltily and looked about at the damage. "I  
guess we did kinda trash stuff didn't we?" She looked at the pile of  
concrete shards. "I dunno about this pile, though, Ranchan. I could  
disrupt it piece by piece, but there's gotta be thousands of pieces in  
there."  
  
"No problem. Watch what I do, here. First you treat the pile as a  
single thing, with a single meaning. Then you use the butterfly kiss on  
that one thing." The pile dissolved into a looming cloud of fine dust;  
Ranma waved her other hand at it, fingers rotating. Kasumi's eyes went  
wide in shock. "Then you take the dust cloud and gather it together and  
run it off." The cloud was sucked into a small tornado that formed on  
the former location of the pile and blew out the outside door into the  
yard.  
  
"Now, for the next problem we rely on the fact that the inner meaning  
of the dojo is not particularly related to holes in the walls. That is,  
the natural state of the dojo is to be in good condition. What you need  
to do is find the dojo's 'right state' and Imbue reality with it."   
  
"Fffff." Akane blew out her cheeks, dropping into seiza in the center  
of the floor. "Okay, I _think_ I can do that. Let's see." She knelt  
forward onto her knees and put one hand onto the dojo floor, almost  
caressing it before stilling herself completely, almost ceasing even to  
breathe.   
  
A hum began to resonate throughout the dojo as Akane concentrated and  
began to glow herself, faintly. Then the walls and floor of the dojo  
began to blur, to seem as if seen in double-vision, overlaid by an  
image similar, but not exactly the same. The hum fell in pitch and rose  
in volume and Akane's glow shifted quickly towards the red, brightening  
as it did so and giving off heat. Then the walls seemed to snap into  
focus as the hum peaked in a sudden squeal of high-pitched sound.  
Akane's glow faded and revealed, when the light level had stabilized, a  
dojo not merely repaired, but polished 'til it shone.  
  
Ranma tapped her chin. "Not exactly the way I'd have done it, but it  
worked nicely."  
  
Akane wobbled to her feet, and put her hands on her knees as she gasped  
for breath. "How'd *gasp* how'd I do, Ranchan? *Pant* Harder than I  
thought. *Wheeze*"  
  
Ranma gave her a thumbs up, and turned to Kasumi. "You did great,  
Acchan! What's up, Kasumi-san?"  
  
Kasumi heard herself say something about dinner, and furo, and heard  
Ranma's reply. Internally, however, she was focused on one thought  
only, here was a product of the martial arts that _she_ could use.  
Domesticity Martial Arts. Plans and half-formed wishes volleyed back  
and forth in her head as she wandered away.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Akane leaned back into the heated bath-water and considered her friend.  
Ranma had delayed a moment to speak to Nabiki which gave Akane a chance  
to watch her undress and wash, a chance she was making the most of.   
  
From an aesthetic standpoint, she mused silently, Ranma's body left  
something to be desired. Oh, her _form_ and _figure_ were certainly  
acceptable enough, in an abstract sense; not quite as 'developed' as  
hers, but certainly acceptable. But the overall presentation ... while  
not ... uncomely ... nevertheless was distinctly lacking.   
  
Partly, she thought, due to the sheer unconventionality of it.   
  
Conventional standards, after all, definitely emphasized smoothness.  
Skin should be soft, or else taut and tanned, muscles sculpted and  
well-defined. Body fat should cover and enhance to sleekness those  
areas possessing it, and some areas, particularly those most feminine,  
_should_ possess it. Eyes should be large and expressive, and open to  
the world. The structure of the face should be smooth and sleek,  
flowing in curves strong or heart-shaped as circumstances indicated,  
defining that feature regarded as the emblem of the soul. The whole  
structure and carriage of the body should harmonize into the presented  
image, blending the soul and the body that carries it into one, unitary  
whole.  
  
Another part was carriage and attitude. 'So much of how you perceive a  
person comes from how they move and are still,' she thought. A woman  
may mince, or skip, or even prowl or strut, but nonetheless she moves  
in a certain manner. With grace and style, or at least with an attempt  
at them. Forever conscious of how other will see her. A man may move  
forcefully or timidly, claiming the limelight or evading it, but always  
dealing with the space to be seen _in_. A normal man, a normal woman,  
she thought. But not Ranma.  
  
Muscles like steel cable and whipcord. Skin seamed with thin white  
scars and tanned into a semblance of well-cured, soft leather. Face  
close-laid over strong bones, but without more than a pittance of body  
fat, eyes as often half-closed as open. Attitude most of all.   
  
Ranma, she thought, rather than being concerned with seeing or being  
seen, more often exuded a combination of complete relaxation  
unconcerned with its surroundings and utter steel-spring readiness for  
action that you would ordinarily have to be a mongoose to pull off.  
Lastly, and that which was first noticed, movement; no concern there  
with being seen, no concern with space. Ranma simply moved from one  
space to another, utterly unconcerned with what might be going on  
outside the spaces she was moving _in_.   
  
Idly, Akane wondered if she would end up looking like that, and how  
long it would take. Idly, she thought that Ranma wasn't conventionally  
pretty, but was certainly beautiful. Idly, she wondered why she had  
thought that, but lost the thought amidst heat-induced relaxation. Then  
she remembered another idle thought, and acted on it. "Hey, Ranchan!  
Tell me about the other one."  
  
"Which other one, Acchan?" Ranma replied, slipping into the tub.   
  
"The other one who used to call you Ranchan."  
  
"Huh? Oh! Oh, sure, Ucchan. Ukyou that is. Ko-something Ukyou, my first  
friend.   
  
"Ucchan lived in Osaka when I was six; still does, I guess. His dad  
owns an Okonomiyaki shop there. He and I always used to scuffle over  
food.   
  
"Well ... that's not _quite_ right. What happened was, Ucchan would  
make a couple of okonomiyaki, I would 'steal' them, then I'd give one  
back and we'd eat lunch."  
  
"Made you lunch every day, hmmm?" Akane teased, "Sounds like _some_one  
liked you a lot."  
  
"We were _six_, Acchan." Ranma said wryly, "Don't construct a great  
romance from nothing, here."  
  
"You mean to tell me," Akane arched an eyebrow, "that you never thought  
about it before? Not even a little? No dreams of going back to Osaka  
and, you know, looking him up?"  
  
"First, we were _friends_, Acchan. Not boyfriend and girlfriend.  
Second, he's a well-favored guy who stands to inherit a restaurant of  
his own; maybe more than one. So he's already got girls hanging off his  
arms, drooling. He may be engaged already, in fact.   
  
"Third, and most prominent, _he_ cooks Okonomiyaki. _I_ kill people.  
There is a severe disconnect in job prospects here.   
  
"I mean, what is he supposed to do, sell food at exhibitions or  
something? Or does he need, you know, armed guards and assassins to  
protect his Okonomiyaki Empire? No, it'd never work."   
  
"Oh well, it was a thought."  
  
"Ha! You can't get out of getting beat on by interfering in my love  
life either, slacker!"  
  
"Hmmmmf. Baka! You would think that." Akane focused her eyes dreamily  
on the scarlet braid floating free past Ranma's shoulder. Another thing  
different, she thought. Normal people's hair stayed where it was put,  
or flowed with the person's movement. Ranma's braid as often moved  
_against_ the motion of her body.   
  
And then there was the ring; made of ivory, carven into the shape of a  
pair of dragons biting each other's tails, and set with glittering  
gemstones, it was not the type of hair ornament you would typically  
see. "Why do you always wear that hair ring anyway, Ranchan? Don't you  
even take it off to bathe?"  
  
Ranma grinned slightly and unfastened the ring from her braid, placing  
it on the edge of the tub. 'Yes!' Akane enthused internally, 'I'll get  
her to unwind yet!' Then her mind began to gibber at her.   
  
Ranma's hair was unwinding of its own accord! Spreading out from its  
braid into a floating fan even as she watched, (Ranma unconcernedly  
sank her head beneath the water momentarily) tapping and touching the  
side of the tub, reaching out in all directions. And _growing_ she  
noted in amazement, lengthening visibly as she watched, stretching out  
to run along the surface of the water like a million tiny, questing  
snakes.   
  
Reaching, she noted with distant concern, towards her as well; it would  
cover the short distance in less than a minute. "Ah, ah, ah ...  
Ranchan? Ah, your hair ... ah ...."  
  
Ranma rose up from the tub momentarily, shaking her head; her hair  
whipped about briefly, then was returned to its braided state by a  
twist of her neck and blurring hands. She returned the ring to its  
place of honor, about a foot up the now-extended braid, then her hand  
briefly flashed light and she sat back down in the tub and handed Akane  
a neatly braided foot-long length of her hair.  
  
Ranma grinned crookedly as Akane looked up at her and down at the braid  
several times in shock. "Once upon a time, I was in a position to help  
out a dragon," she said, reminiscently. Akane blinked at her. "He had  
this problem with an infestation of parasites."  
  
Akane blinked again. "Dragon fleas?"  
  
Ranma raised her right leg above the water of the tub and regarded it  
pensively. "Yeah, sorta." The leg was patterned with scars that looked,  
to Akane, like something with a bunch of sharp claws had climbed up it  
and then dug in and tap-danced around the calf. "By the time I'd dealt  
with them I was pretty chewed up and one of the damn things had eaten  
off my hair."  
  
"Your hair, Ranchan? But why ...?"  
  
"Well, Huan Huang Hu Hu Ti Shen Sheng Long-Wang isn't such a bad guy  
for a dragon, and he Owed me for the help anyway, so he fixed up a bowl  
of soup. I don't know what all it had in it, but after I drank it, I  
started healing a lot faster and my hair ... well, you saw. Now I have  
to keep this ring on to keep it from doing that."  
  
"Huan Huang Hu Hu Ti Shen Sheng Long-Wang?!" Ranma nodded. "Jolly  
Yellow Fierce Tiger Emperor Spirit Scholar Dragon-King???!" Ranma  
shrugged. "Yeeesh. But why does it work?"  
  
"'Cause its carved from one of his teeth." Akane blink-blinked. "Like  
my knives."  
  
"He gave you his _teeth_?"  
  
"Well, the original offer was 'half my horde and my daughter's hand in  
marriage' and his daughter already _was_ married and a dragon without a  
horde is a truly pathetic thing, so-ooo ...."  
  
"Oh." Akane sank back into the bath-water again. "My sensei, the  
weirdo."  
  
"Biiidah!"  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Tendo Soun was not, contrary to popular opinion, entirely incoherent.   
  
It was true that his nerves were broken from the stress of his life and  
its many tragedies, but he did work towards his daughters' well-being.  
He worked all the time, actually, though it might have been more useful  
had any of the work consisted of more than dreams, schemes or tears.   
  
Lately he seemed to have been especially pressed, he felt. First, there  
had been the reluctant realization that the long-held dream he had  
based most of his hopes on would never come to fruition. No doubt the  
vagaries of a martial artist's life had overwhelmed Saotome; just the  
thought of Genma and his son's sad last moments could bring a renewed  
wail of grief.   
  
Yes, the realization had been hard, but he must face facts. It had been  
more than twelve years and he had no word for the last eight. No, he  
had to be realistic for his daughters' sakes; Genma would never return,  
and his son ('What had been his name, now? Lan-something?') would never  
marry one of Soun's precious children. He must forget the dead past; he  
must go on. But it was hard.  
  
He realized that he, himself, was almost useless now. He had almost  
been destroyed by Kyuumu's death; and he still could find no joy in the  
martial arts that he had put so much of himself into. They had not been  
able to save her; his skills had failed him in his supreme need, and he  
had done no more than teach desultorily since.   
  
It was a sad pass for a master of the Musabetsu Kakutou Tendo-ryu to  
come to, but there it was. Still, he was not _entirely_ dead yet, and  
the news that his beloved daughter Akane had nearly been killed  
fighting a monster, that many of the students at her school _had_ been  
killed or injured, _while he could do nothing to aid them_, had undone  
him entirely.   
  
Even days later the thought of what might have happened brought him  
almost to collapse; but he knew he must not dwell on it. He had a more  
pressing responsibility, one so urgent as to even overshadow his many  
fears and griefs. Akane was in training under another.   
  
In itself, this was no bad thing, Kami knew _he_ could no longer  
instruct her properly. But the fate of the school was at stake! He must  
assess _for himself_ the skill at the Art of her new sensei, this  
Bushiko Ranma. Not that he had any reason to distrust Ranma-san, no.  
But he must appraise her skills for himself; in the end, the  
responsibility was his, however inadequate his ability to meet that  
responsibility might be.  
  
At dinner, therefore, he had raised the question. Most properly,  
Ranma-san had immediately agreed, and so now he must do something he  
had not done in ten years. He must spar, all-out, with an opponent that  
he was uneasily coming to be aware might well his superior.   
  
He based this assessment partially on the relaxed flow of Ranma's  
movements as she evaded his attacks and insinuated herself past his  
defenses. It was the hardest sparring he had done since he and Genma  
had dealt with that old pervert Happosai, he had pulled out every trick  
he knew, and he was losing. But mainly he based the assessment on the  
fact that Ranma, moments after the match had started, had kicked him  
gently in the head. From behind. And he hadn't even seen her _move_.  
  
Akane watched the match intently. This was only the third time she had  
had the opportunity to observe Ranma in action without interference and  
the first where her sensei had been sparring rather than actually  
fighting. Ranma was obviously spending energy in performing her  
techniques rather than going for the win; Akane did not fool herself  
into thinking otherwise. Yet sparring also teaches an observer much  
about a fighter's style and Akane was almost in a trance as she drank  
in what the two in front of her were teaching.   
  
She had erred, she realized. She had assumed that her father's  
incapacity was due to inability. The match was disabusing her of that  
notion. He was still a great martial artist; rusty though he might be  
his moves were fluid and correct, his attacks precise and powerful, his  
defenses firm.   
  
Yet, even so, she could see the difference. Precise as Soun's motions  
were, each spent a small portion of effort achieving that precision;  
Ranma's did not. Powerful as were his attacks, firm though his defense  
might be, each took effort to achieve, attention to complete, focus of  
mind and body to continue; Ranma's did not. Ranma simply _was_: grace  
in motion, calm in mind, composed in mien, as though she had found  
satori, not in the stillness, but rather in the storm.   
  
Deep in her heart and soul, Akane could feel the storm-winds blowing.  
Far off she could hear the thunder, far off she could smell the rain.   
  
At the core of her heart a fire was building, flickering from candle-  
flame to campfire, rushing from campfire to bonfire, roaring in its  
power as it grew to an inferno that would consume her whole. An inferno  
that sought the storm and the rain it brought; that would run before  
it, and delight in it, and grow stronger by it; that would give back to  
the storm that would rise up into the rain, and make them greater and  
richer in their own turn.   
  
As from afar off and faintly she seemed to see from the corner of her  
mind's eye a sword, traced out only by its edge, limned by fire,  
defined by sea-wrack, born up on the wind.   
  
Farther yet she could sense the presence of a mighty tree; the  
storm-winds ruffled its branches, the rain nourished it, the sword  
warded it from harm. And the fire would blaze upon it, would leap from  
branch to leaf, would run up and down the trunk till all was ablaze,  
yet did not burn, but grew and thrived and was warded from harm by  
friendly flames.  
  
And she saw that she had wronged her father yet more; she saw how he  
loved the art, how he gloried in its practice even now. 'How much he  
must have been hurt,' she thought, 'to give it up.' She resolved to be  
nicer to him in future, and to appreciate him more.   
  
Appreciate him, as she appreciated the match before her. And she stood  
back and drank it in like pure water in the desert, that quenches  
thirst in delight and coolness, and reignites it again. And her muscles  
began to twitch minutely as she committed everything she could to  
muscle memory, and her eyes went wide as she desperately strove to see  
everything she could.   
  
And within her a voice began to chant, 'That! That, I want that! That!  
Just like that! Just like her!'. And Soun strove to give a good account  
of himself and Ranma flowed by, calm as a summer breeze, ferocious as  
the storm.  
  
At last Soun called a halt and admitted defeat. Ranma smiled and bowed  
to him. "Good match, Tendo-san."   
  
Akane and Nabiki nodded, enthused, and Kasumi smiled distractedly, her  
mind far away.   
  
"Yes. Yes it was, Ranma-san. Almost like the old days. If only ...."  
And he sighed, and said no more.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The sun was setting in a blaze of fire and light. Ranma sat on the  
porch of the dojo and watched it. After a time she drew a rude-looking  
bamboo flute from jacket-space and began to play.   
  
Akane stepped to the edge of the house behind her and listened. "That's  
a shakuhachi isn't it, Ranchan?" Ranma nodded and continued playing.   
  
Shortly Nabiki and Kasumi appeared from the interior of the house,  
drawn by the music. Then Soun turned from the place where he had been  
sitting, watching the TV, to regard the porch as well. After a few  
moments more Akane chuckled, "Hey, I know that one ... that's Bach. The  
Art of the Fugue. Do I want to ask how you learned it?"  
  
Ranma shook her head and continued to play, and Akane began to see a  
weave of shi passing with the notes of the flute out into the yard.  
Then the threads began to draw up butterflies from their resting  
grounds in the bushes and trees surrounding the koi pond. The  
butterflies began to dance to the flute notes, turning and fluttering  
in time to the rhythm of the song Ranma was playing (she had shifted  
from the Bach to another tune - one Akane did not know).   
  
At the climax of the tune Akane saw a thread dip gently into the pond  
and bring up a koi, which leaped high into the air as the last gleam of  
the setting sun illuminated it in a flaming shroud of gold.  
  
Kasumi laughed in glee and clapped her hands. Nabiki surreptitiously  
wiped away a tear. Ranma turned to Akane and winked casually. And the  
sky boiled up into violet and scarlet glory as the Sun went down.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Nerima after sunset is a quiet place, normally. Except for the Ginza,  
there is very little activity late at night, and most of the people who  
live here at least pretend to keep normal hours.   
  
From the window of Akane's bedroom the streets seem empty and still as  
she watches a red-headed, white-scarfed figure turn a corner and  
disappear from sight. Emptier after she is gone, certainly, she thinks,  
as most places are.   
  
And she prepares for bed and smiles in affection, she will see her  
again in the morning, there is no reason to worry. Already the thought  
of _not_ seeing her seems absurd for some reason. And as she moves  
quietly from one place to another in pursuit of the goal of  
'ready-to-go-to- sleep' she begins, also quietly, to sing. A song she  
remembers from somewhere, that seems for some reason to remind her of  
Ranma. Though just why, she cannot now seem to bring to mind.  
  
You fill up my senses   
Like a night in a forest,  
Like the mountains in springtime,   
Like a walk in the rain,  
Like a storm in the desert,   
Like a sleepy blue ocean,  
You fill up my senses,   
Come fill me again.  
  
Come let me love you,   
Let me give my life to you,  
Let me drown in your laughter,   
Let me die in your arms.  
Let me lay down beside you,   
Let me always be with you,  
Come let me love you,   
Come love me again.  
  
You fill up my senses  
Like a night in a forest,  
Like the mountains in springtime,   
Like a walk in the rain,  
Like a storm in the desert,   
Like a sleepy blue ocean,  
You fill up my senses,   
Come fill me again.  
  
'Now why is it,' she thinks sleepily, 'that Ranma always makes me think  
of love songs?' And she rolls drowsily into sleep. Briefly. Then she  
sits bolt upright in bed. It couldn't be! ...Could it? No! She wasn't  
... she didn't ... well, she just didn't, that was all.   
  
But it seemed very hard to get to sleep suddenly, and she knew that she  
would spend a lot of time tonight laying on her side, and looking out  
into the dark.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Next:  
Ranma and Akane: A Love Story  
Chapter 5: Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi  
Part A: Hateful Life  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Author's notes:   
  
Ahh. Young Love. Gets ya right *here*, no?  
  
The original funeral scene was too western, so I have added some  
explanation of why it turned out that way.  
  
Plus, I might need a good grave-side scene later, and this way I'll  
have an excuse. Waste not, want not.  
  
A Sto'r Mo Chroi', also called The American Wake, is the song that was  
sung by relatives and friends on the way to the ship that would take  
immigrants from Ireland to America. A voyage, they knew, that claimed  
many lives. A voyage from which, even for those who survived, there  
would be, essentially, no returning.  
  
Why Ranma sings _that_ song as opposed to another, and where she  
learned it, can be seen if you look closely at the next chapter.  
  
I'm trying to keep an eye on Ranma's progress in spiritual matters  
along with Akane's. Also, I like the present tense form.  
  
I've removed the old talking heads part again, and I will try to keep  
them to a minimum thenceforth. The information formerly imparted  
therein has been moved to the Side Arc: Training Sequence.  
  
For some reason, very few fanfics take advantage of the remarkable  
wealth of visual spectacle that Ranma provides. I don't know why that  
is, but I'm perfectly willing to take advantage of it.  
  
Yes, I am going to torture both of them mercilessly, but that's no  
reason for them not to have fun along the way.  
  
Yes, _that_ Sakura. Yes, the one from Urusei Yatsura.  
  
Yes, that _does_ mean what you probably think it does.  
  
'Til next,  
Eric Hallstrom, 01/16/2001 


	5. Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi

Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only swinging on  
the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found  
them and please don't feed the Trolls.  
  
"A Sto'r Mo Chroi'" ("Darling of my Heart" or "The American Wake") is  
still Traditional. "The Whistling Pig" belongs, as far as I know, to  
Robert Frezza. I don't know who wrote "'Tis Mute ...," I lost the book.  
Whoever it is, they did a good job. "Bridge Over Troubled Water" is by  
Simon and Garfunkle.  
  
Warning: This part is [Dark] and may very well be [Squicky] as well.  
Depending on how you look at it, it may also deserve a [Lemon] or  
[Lime] tag, too, not to mention [WAFF]. You Have Been Warned.  
  
By popular demand, the majority of this episode should be read to  
Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi from Carl Orff's Carmina Burana.  
  
You can find a MP3 at the site below.  
Don't put it on yet. I'll indicate when.  
  
This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/  
  
Release 1.2 (Nov. 25, 2000)  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma and Akane: A Love Story  
Chapter 5: Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi  
Part A: Hateful Life  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
1. O Fortuna 1. O Fortune  
  
Verse 1  
  
O Fortuna, O Fortune,  
velut Luna like the moon  
statu variabilis, you are changeable,  
semper crescis ever waxing  
aut decrescis; and waning;  
vita detestabilis hateful life  
nunc obdurat first oppresses  
et tunc curat and then soothes  
ludo mentis aciem, as fancy takes it;  
egestatem potestatem poverty and power  
dissolvit ut glaciem. it melts them like ice.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
A demon was raping her.   
  
For the ... time. Again. What did it matter how many times. Just again.  
Only some of the demons who held her captive had shown an interest, but  
those who had seemed to find it their preferred mode of torment.   
  
They had taken away the control of her body, but they had left her the  
pain. This one, for instance, was making her moan and writhe, as though  
she was secretly enjoying the abuse. Others had made her plead, or  
scream, or just cringe.  
  
They had stuck hooks through her wrists, and lashed her with barbed  
chains. They had cut her flesh with knives and branded her with irons.  
They had shoved a sharpened steel pole through her anus and out her  
mouth and roasted her alive over a flame. They had bound her spirit  
into her dead body and carved it for their meat, and she had felt the  
pain of every bite and they had told her that it was pleasure, that she  
was delicious, that it was an honor to serve.  
  
They had bound hot stones into her knees and elbows and healed the  
wounds they made. They had slain her with steel and with fire and  
raised her again to life.   
  
They had shown her others in torment. They had laid out before her all  
the kingdoms of the world and shown her that they ruled them all. They  
had shown her her parents and friends writhing in the flames, begging  
her to save them.   
  
They had said that they were mighty. They had said that they were  
kings. They had demanded that she yield her soul to their mastery.  
  
They had made her body agree, but they had made a mistake.   
  
Her body had agreed, had pled, had begged.   
  
But she had not.   
  
They had lied to her body, but her soul was not fooled. And if they had  
lied in one thing, then they lied in _every_ thing.   
  
And so she remained. They could torment her, they could mock her, but  
one thing they could not touch. Whatever else they told her, whatever  
they showed, whatever they made her body feel or do, one thing she knew  
beyond all doubt.  
  
_They lied._  
  
And eventually they must give her a chance. Eventually their vigilance  
must slip. Eventually she would get her hands upon a knife. Or a flame,  
or a rock, or a chain, or a hook, or a spoon (They had scooped out her  
eyes with one, once. Or was it many times? And did it matter?).   
  
Eventually. And then she would see if they could lie to themselves as  
well as they had lied to her. She suspected that they could not, but  
she would see, regardless. She had nothing else to live for, and  
nothing at all to lose. And in the end, what could they do? Punish her?  
Send her, perhaps, to Hell?  
  
And that was why, as the demon thrust into her, as it's malformed  
member tore and ripped and lubricated itself with blood, as her body  
was commanded to gasp and moan in ecstasy, as it plead to be abused  
further, as it proclaimed itself a slave, a slut, a whore ... Asano  
Sayuri was smiling with her eyes.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Verse 2  
  
Sors immanis Fate - monstrous  
et inanis, and empty,  
rota tu volubilis, you whirling wheel,  
status malus, you are malevolent,  
vana salus well-being is in vain,  
semper dissolubilis, and always fades to nothing,  
obumbrata et velata shadowed and veiled  
michi quoque niteris; you plague me too;  
nunc per ludum now through the game  
dorsum nudum I bring my bare back  
fero tui sceleris. to your villainy.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
On Monday, she worried.   
  
It was inconceivable that she could be ... she wasn't ... she was just  
friends ... right? She wasn't ... Kasumi would be ... she would just  
frown sadly, and ... and Daddy, he'd ... and Ranchan ... Ranchan had  
all those boyfriends ... she'd had sex before, she said ... Ranchan'd  
hate her ... it'd be horrible.   
  
And besides, she'd never thought about girls _that_ way before.   
  
That was on Monday. On Tuesday the gym class did swimming. She didn't  
swim well, of course, but she stood on the side and watched.   
  
And Ranma, of course _did_ go swimming. In a one-piece. That was quite  
sufficient, especially with it being wet. She nearly buckled at the  
knees. Had she _really_ thought that Ranma was 'not uncomely' just two  
days before?   
  
Ranma, she discovered, possessed a sharp-edged, visceral attractiveness  
that grabbed you by the throat and _squeezed_. And besides that, she  
was _damned_ sexy. She wanted to ... was _this_ what the boys had felt?   
  
She'd always thought that they were just ... unthinking, but if this  
was what it was like ....  
  
On Wednesday, she agonized.   
  
What should she do? A relationship with Ranma was impossible, of  
course. Even if Ranma was ... that way, she could not be seen to be in  
love with another girl. Her reputation would never stand it. Neither  
would her own reputation, of course, but that was a secondary issue. It  
was Ranma who was important.   
  
She would simply have to go on, that was all. Deny everything, herself  
most of all. It would be a test of discipline, but there was no other  
option.   
  
Nor could she simply break off relations. It would raise questions.  
Investigations would be launched; her secret would come out. That would  
be just as bad, but worse yet, _what reason could she give_?   
  
Could she lie to Ranma? Tell her that she would no longer be her  
friend? No. That would add hypocrisy and dishonor to all her other  
sins. No. She would simply have to hide what she felt. Conceal her  
attraction. Ranma must never know; _no one_ must ever know. Above all  
other things this: her current 'attraction' was bad enough. Whatever  
else she did, she _must not_ fall in love.  
  
But one thing she could do: she could fight beside her, aid her, be her  
friend in all things. It wasn't anything nearly enough, but it was all  
she had, so it would have to do.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Verse 3  
  
Sors salutis Fate is against me  
et virtutis in health  
michi nunc contraria and virtue,  
est affectus driven on  
et defectus and weighted down,  
semper in angaria. always enslaved.  
Hac in hora So at this hour  
sine mora without delay  
cordum pulsum tangite; pluck the vibrating strings;   
quod per sortem since Fate  
sternit fortem, strikes down the strong man,  
mecum omnes plangite! everyone weep with me!   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
A demon was torturing her ... no, wait; it was only her physical  
therapist.   
  
Sometimes Kuno Kodachi found it difficult to tell the difference.  
Still, she persevered. She _would_ return to form. She would escape the  
hell of this hospital for the clean air. Her brother would help, and  
Ranma-sensei would too; but they could only _help_. She would have to  
_do_.  
  
It worried her slightly that the doctors told her that cosmetic surgery  
would have to wait. Her body was still insufficiently healed to safely  
subject to the stresses of further injury.   
  
It worried her more that it worried her so little. She had always been  
so proud of her looks; what would she look like now? She had not yet  
gathered the courage to look in a mirror to see.  
  
At least Ranma-san had combined with Tofu-sensei to alleviate the pain  
of the burns. A procedure that combined some of the features of  
acupuncture and moxibustion, she thought, it had proven most effective.   
  
Still, that did not reduce the time she must spend in this pestilential  
"therapy". She preformed the exercise again and ignored the pain.   
  
She was getting out.   
  
She was going home.   
  
And what would be, would be.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
1. Fortune plango vulnera 2. I bemoan the wounds of Fortune   
  
Verse 1  
  
Fortune plango vulnera I bemoan the wounds of Fortune  
stillantibus ocellis, with weeping eyes,  
quod sua michi munera for the gifts she made me   
subtrahit rebellis. she perversely takes away.   
Verum est, quod legitur, It is written in truth,   
fronte capillata, that she has a fine head of hair,  
sed plerumque but, when it comes to  
sequitur seizing an opportunity,  
occasio calvata. she is bald.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
On Monday, he fretted.   
  
Sayuri-chan's condition was declining, Akane was insufficiently trained  
to support him in an intervention, and he was afraid he was beginning  
to do something he had specifically forbidden himself from doing. Or  
rather, _she_ was beginning to do something _she_ had ... and that was  
the problem, of course.  
  
On Tuesday, he agonized.   
  
The gym class had done swim practice that day; and while Akane had not,  
for some reason, actually gotten in the pool, she _had_ put on a  
swimsuit. That was enough.   
  
He was rarely, if ever aroused by a person's looks, now. An artifact,  
he supposed, of what Minnie-May had called his "versatility"; he tended  
not to scan people as potential partners unless he had already  
unconsciously decided in their favor. So his sudden arousal meant only  
one thing; he was in _deep_ trouble.   
  
On Wednesday, he worried.   
  
He had already resigned himself to nothing more than friendship, but he  
suspected that it would be even more difficult to stay within that  
category than he had previously suspected. Just as long as it wasn't  
love he was probably safe.   
  
Friendship, even close friendship, he had no fear of. Comradeship he  
could handle. She could be as attractive as she liked without  
overloading his control. Love would be a problem. Well, he would simply  
have to see to it that it did not go that far.   
  
He had worse problems. Sayuri's condition had not improved. No medical  
technique had palliated her decline. Neither rituals of healing nor  
exorcisms had made a difference.   
  
He would have to intervene personally. But he had a feeling about this  
one; this one was going to be bad. Akane was not trained well enough to  
help; taking her along would be far too dangerous, to her most of all.  
But a bad intervention might well lead to his own death.   
  
He feared that Akane was trained too well to escape extra-natural  
attention should he fall, but not trained well enough to defeat it. Nor  
could Sayuri wait for her further training; if he were to aid her at  
all it must be now.  
  
That night he prepared for battle, oiling and maintaining all his  
weapons, storing power against future need. Then, after all was in  
readiness, he wrote a letter.  
  
Rally Vincent  
Gunsmith Cats  
Chicago, USA  
  
Dear Rally,  
As you can see, the rolling stone has decided to gather a little  
moss for a time. I am presently living in Nerima Ward, and have  
taken an apartment ....   
  
The reason I'm writing you is that I seem to have gotten myself  
into a 'situation' again ....   
  
An old enemy, you wouldn't know him ....   
  
So I feel that I have to go see where Sayuri-san is being  
restrained....   
  
The problem is, I have also taken a student. Her name is Tendo  
Akane, and she's going to be one of the great ones if she lives.  
But she needs more training, and I might not be able to do it  
myself. So, what I'm asking is, if I don't send you a message in a  
week or so and tell you I'm fine, I'd like for you to inform the  
appropriate people about her ....   
  
Not that I'm planning on dying or anything, but ....  
  
Tell Minnie-May I do _not_!  
  
Love, Ranma.   
  
(p.s. Note that I'm using the feminine here, and tell the  
barbarian ekrixiphiliac to use the appropriate gender! BR)  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Verse 2  
  
In fortune solio On Fortune's throne  
sederam elatus, I used to sit raised up,  
prosperitatis vario crowned with prosperity's  
flore coronatus; many-colored flowers;  
quicquid enim florui though I may have flourished  
felix et beatus, happy and blessed,  
nunc a summo corrui now I fall from the peak  
gloria privatus. deprived of glory.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
A demon was raping her. Again.   
  
She did not know how long she had been under their torment. Any  
estimate she might have made would have been rendered unreliable by the  
penchant her captors had evinced for lying to her senses. How could she  
construct a reliable estimate of the time when a moment might seem like  
an year, or a year like a moment?   
  
It was sufficient for her to note that the demons had seemed to be  
growing increasingly worried. They had not yet been sufficiently  
careless as to allow her an opportunity to escape her bonds yet.   
  
But they would, in time.   
  
And she _had_ time.   
  
All the time in the world.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Verse 3  
  
Fortune rota volvitur: The wheel of Fortune turns:  
descendo minoratus; I go down, demeaned;  
alter in altum tollitur; another is raised up;  
nimis exaltatus far too high up  
rex sedet in vertice - sits the king at the summit -  
caveat ruinam! let him fear ruin!  
nam sub axe legimus for under the axis is written  
Hecubam reginam. Queen Hecuba.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
You can turn 'O Fortuna' on now. It's probably best to put it on  
repeat.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma and Akane: A Love Story  
Chapter 5: Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi  
Part B: Driven On and Weighted Down  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The precincts of Nerima General Hospital are used to the sights of lab  
coats and sterile stainless steel.   
  
They have seen other things too; long brass needles and cones of  
combustible incense, Shinto rituals, Taoist magic, and Buddhist prayer.  
Through them have walked Priest and Shaman, Doctor and (secret)  
Divinity. This has not, however, prepared them for Ranma.  
  
Nabiki looked over the preparations Ranma was making apprehensively.  
Just behind her left shoulder she could feel the overly-calm presence  
of her younger sister; in front of her a person she had come to accept,  
tentatively, as a friend was apparently going slightly insane.   
  
Or maybe not; maybe, in a world that could contain things like Jei,  
marking out a circle on the floor of a hospital room with Mystic  
Chinese Symbols was perfectly sensible. Not that this made her any  
happier.  
  
Sensible or not, the combined emotional tones of Dr. Tofu, (monitoring  
Sayuri's condition) Akane (apparently just standing there) and Ranma  
(using some kind of wax to trace arcane symbols on the floor with  
exquisite care) were convincing her that Ranma was about to do  
something extremely dangerous and making her extremely nervous.  
  
Ranma finished her artwork and tidied up the remaining shards of wax.  
She had created a circle about five feet across in one corner of the  
room and had drawn another, smaller, circle inside it, just large  
enough, Nabiki estimated, to sit in. Now she turned to Dr. Tofu, who  
was examining Sayuri. "Any change, Tofu-sensei?"  
  
"No, Ranma-san," Dr. Tofu looked up from his work, "she is still near  
death." He polished his glasses nervously, "Are you sure this is the  
best option, Ranma-san? Death is only a transition, after all; can you  
justify the risk of delaying this one?"  
  
"Tofu-san, I cannot find her soul. You have yourself observed a dark  
blot on her ki. Medicine has proved insufficient; both an exorcism and  
a ritual of calling have likewise failed. A natural transition is one  
thing; this is something else.  
  
"Nabiki, I am entrusting you and Acchan with the task of ensuring that  
my body is not disturbed while I am away. _No matter what you see_, no  
matter what happens, do not allow it to be disturbed for 48 hours or  
until I come back."  
  
"Ahhh ... How will I know it's you? If you see what I mean? And what do  
we do after 48 hours?" Nabiki queried.  
  
"In answer to your first question: that's what the circles are for. In  
answer to the second: after 48 hours you may assume I'm dead and act as  
seems best to you at the time."  
  
"Oh, great," Nabiki mumbled. Over her shoulder she felt Akane nod,  
gravely.  
  
Ranma stepped into the smaller circle, being careful to avoid mussing  
either design, and knelt down into seiza. She took a breath to center  
herself and closed her eyes.   
  
To Akane's Sight, Ranma's ki patterns solidified and became much  
denser, then stood up out of their body and turned to her with a grave  
nod. Ranma's body continued a slow and deep breathing as her ki turned  
Elsewhere, stepped over a metaphorical wall, and was gone, trailing  
behind it the very faintest thread of power, still touching the body it  
had left behind.  
  
"Wonderful," Nabiki blew out her cheeks and turned to Akane, "now  
what?"  
  
"Now you do what she told you, Oneechan. You keep anyone from touching  
us for 48 hours." Akane stepped past Nabiki and swiftly coiled a string  
of prayer-beads into a smaller circle inside the main circle. Then she  
stepped inside and knelt.  
  
"And what are you ... what do you mean _us_?" Nabiki turned in alarm,  
and reached out; but Akane had already centered and closed her eyes,  
and she snatched back her hand, seeing Dr. Tofu move toward Akane with  
alarm. Then she saw Akane's breathing slow and deepen, and knew she was  
too late. "If she gets killed in there," she vowed, "I'm gonna _kill_  
her!"  
  
And Tendo Akane stepped up from her body and set the controls of its  
life as she had Seen Ranma do. And turned toward the wall that crossed  
her vision in a certain metaphorical direction. It was low and made of  
fieldstone, weathered by the endless years; it would be no trouble to  
step over.   
  
She did so deliberately, following in her sensei's footsteps. And  
walked, though she did not know their names, down the Street of Tears,  
past the River of Dust, down into the Dry Land, where all the stars are  
strange. Down the road that leads toward the Houses of the Dead, and  
beyond them to the docks and piers that reach out into the Starless  
Sea.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
She walked down the street and she did not look back. The great stones  
that the street was made of were worn smooth across their breadth by  
the passage of countless feet, but there was a dip in the middle of the  
blocks about a foot wide where the majority of traffic had passed by in  
years without number.   
  
All who travel that street know its name, by instinct if by nothing  
else, and its surface is worn not only by footsteps but by the slow  
erosion of numberless tears.   
  
Those tears flow off the street into drainage channels, which flow into  
gutters, which feed canals, which run from that street to the west,  
joining with the river a little to the side. Into that river they flow  
and there they vanish, drying into dust and forever gone in instants,  
indistinguishable from all the other dust that flows there, dust to  
dust and ash to ash forever.   
  
In that place there is no sun, and neither rain nor wind ever disturbs  
the silence. The dry air absorbs sound and moisture alike and no hint  
of life ever comes there save for those who have passed beyond it. The  
only light comes from above; for there are no streetlights either, and  
the houses and taverns of the city put out no lanterns, nor do they  
light torches to find their way.   
  
Instead they see by the light of stars beyond number or estimation;  
stars that shine down from the sky in glory undimmed and undimmable;  
brilliant in constellations that have never been named, that change by  
the hour and never repeat. Stars so thickly scattered that their colors  
may be seen by the human eye. Stars that wash the stone streets and  
alleys of the City of the Dead with a light that, brilliant and  
colorful as it may be in the sky, leeches all color and life from the  
stone and the people there, and washes everything with grey.  
  
Akane walked down the street in silence and silence swallowed her  
footfalls. Over all that grey city she could hear no sound, only a vast  
hush that seemed to have existed since the beginning of time. Silently  
she traveled, and in silence she passed the outskirts of the city.  
Silently she walked the worn stone of the street past the thin spray of  
stone houses with slate roofs that form the city's outposts. Silently  
she came to a gate in the obsidian wall that marks the edge of the city  
proper and passed through.   
  
Silently she passed, and heard no sound from herself or from any other  
thing. Until, from the city's heart, suddenly, a stone bell began to  
sound. First the normal dull rumble of beaten stone, growing in power  
as though to shake the entire city, then from beneath the stone-song a  
new voice woke; first a rising note, piercingly beautiful, then  
another, held in suspension, then a last cry, prolonged and falling  
away; as though some sweet and mighty voice was calling, "Love.  
Strength. Heeaaveeeen. Ai, ken, teeeeeeennnn. Ai, ken, teeeeeeennnn."   
  
Up, pause, down. Up, pause, down. And all around her the stone walls  
and stone streets of the city responded to the bells, singing in  
harmony, "Ai, ken, teeeeeeennnn. Ai, ken, teeeeeeennnn." And above her,  
from many places near and far, more bells answered back; small brass  
clangor swelled by silver tintinattus joining golden metallic voices  
triumphant over harsh brazen roar of many great carillons undismayed by  
mournful iron tolling, and over and above and under all the mighty song  
of stone, "Ai, ken, teeeeeeennnn. Ai, ken, teeeeeeennnn."  
  
Blinded by tears and deafened by glory Akane stumbled to the side of  
the street and placed a hand against the wall, fighting for control. As  
the bells continued she managed to regain enough control to continue  
moving, but kept her course near to the wall, reaching out to touch it  
from time to time.   
  
As the bells rose to a crescendo she began to think that there could be  
no finer fate than to stay here in the city and listen to the bells.  
Then she stumbled past an alleyway in her daze and gasped as an arm  
encircled her neck and dragged her in.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Stupid girl," Ranma hissed into her ear, "are you _trying_ to get  
killed?"  
  
The last glorious crescendo faded into silence and Akane gasped in the  
pain of its passing. "R-Ranchan! What?"  
  
"What the _hell_ do you think you're _doing_, you baka?" Ranma shook  
her like a rag-doll, glaring furiously. "This place is dangerous enough  
if you know what you're doing! Which you don't!"  
  
"St-stop shaking me, Ranchan!" Ranma subsided. "You're going to need  
me."  
  
"Whatta you mean _I'm_ gonna need you!? If I need you it'll be topside  
looking out for my body, you baka. And who's looking out for _your_  
body anyway?"  
  
"I've got it in the same big circle you made, I saw how you made the  
little circle, I got some prayer beads to make it, Nabiki can watch,  
Dr. Tofu too, he's a good martial artist, And I wasn't going to let you  
go down here alone, you're going to need me _here_, I know it."   
  
Ranma hissed in frustration. "If time wasn't so short .... Can you at  
least follow orders now you're here?" she asked harshly.   
  
"H-hai, sensei," Akane whispered.  
  
"Then come on. Quietly!"  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
In the exact geometrical center of the city of stone (if that city can  
be said to _have_ a center) stands a house. It exists in the middle of  
a garden of roses and an orchard of apple trees, and the roses and the  
trees and the apples they bear are black.   
  
It hums with a drowsy heat and buzzes with the activities of the many  
hives of bees that feed from the roses and the apples and that never  
grow old; and the bees and the honey that they give are black as a  
starless midnight, but the wax of the hives is white as bone.   
  
It is made of black stone, cut with laser precision by something that  
wasn't a laser, and roofed with black slate. Its doors and window-  
frames are made of ebony and neatly painted black, and the panes of  
glass in the windows are heavily leaded and seem to have a black tint.   
  
It seems from time to time to be as small as a cottage or as large as a  
mansion; and from various views its grounds may not seem to exist, or  
may stretch on for light-years into distant star-shot mountains on  
whose slopes grow fields of golden wheat.   
  
Aside from these minor factors there is nothing at all to indicate  
whose house it is.  
  
To that black house in the middle of its black gardens and black  
orchard came Ranma and Akane. By the side door.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Grrk," said Akane, seeing the house they were making for. "Who lives  
_there_?"  
  
"Death." said Ranma calmly. "Be polite."  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
They entered the gardens from a side street and hurried past the hedge  
of black-leafed holly that serves that part of the gardens as a wall.   
  
As she passed the hives of buzzing bees Ranma nodded to them calmly, as  
to old acquaintances met going about their business, and the bees  
dipped politely in reply. Passing under an apple tree, Ranma reached up  
and plucked two apples from its branches with a muttered word of  
thanks. "Eat," she said, handing one of the glossy black fruit to  
Akane.   
  
"Ahh ... but, I thought that you weren't _supposed_ to eat anything  
that you found here," wavered Akane. Ranma, she noted, had disposed of  
her apple in six bites, saving only a large black seed that had rested  
at the core of the bone-white flesh of the black-skinned fruit.   
  
"I never said this was a _safe_ expedition," Ranma said dryly, "eat  
your fruit."  
  
"Grrrk," said Akane, and did so.   
  
At Ranma's indication she placed the seed that she had likewise saved  
at the base of the tree alongside the one Ranma had placed there and  
bowed with her friend. Above their heads the tree's branches waved,  
though no breeze blew. "Grrrk," said Akane, and turned away.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
In a quiet hospital room, two forms sat still and silent. The only  
sound was their breaths, which slowed and grew deeper yet.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Reaching the side of the house, Ranma opened the door and went in,  
Akane following. They found themselves in an empty hallway floored in  
black wood and wallpapered in a fetching black on which many beautiful  
and intricate patterns had been printed in black ink.  
  
Ranma walked swiftly down the hallway and turned into an open doorway.  
Akane followed her into a room that was at once both large and small.  
Crossing the floor to a figure shrouded in black and sitting in a chair  
that was turned half away from them, Ranma knelt and bent her head.   
  
"Ranma," said the white-skinned, black-haired girl dressed in a blue  
cotton T-shirt and biker leathers who turned around, "it's been so  
long! Can you stay a bit longer this time?"  
  
"I'm afraid not, Tel," Ranma rose and briefly pressed her cheek to the  
other girl's. "I've got a problem. Have you processed a girl by the  
name of Asano Sayuri, of Nerima, Tokyo, the home islands, Earth,  
recently?"   
  
The sardonic-visaged young man who was suddenly standing in the girl's  
place was dressed in skin-tight black leather, revealing an impressive  
figure. "*Aw*," he pouted devastatingly, "*you _never_ want to stay and  
play!* *Boring!*"  
  
The black-suited minor bureaucrat who replaced him had grey hair and a  
golden pince-nez. "/Hem/," his dusty voice echoed as he reached out and  
took an enormous book from nowhere, expertly flipping through the pages  
and ran his long fore-finger down the one he stopped at. "/No, that  
client has not been processed by this office. Nor is her name entered  
in the Book of Dust, nor the Book of Blood, nor the Book of Glory./"   
  
"Damn," Ranma muttered.  
  
"[However]," sang the earthy voice of the tall black-haired figure  
dressed in a short chiffon and carrying a boatman's staff who now stood  
by the desk, "[while _I_ have not carried her, I _have_ heard rumors of  
new activity in one of the out-flanker castles of the rebellion.]"   
  
"Which one?" Ranma questioned grimly.  
  
"{That belonging to the 'Marquis' Delaniel.}" replied the glorious  
choral voice of the immense robed and winged figure before them.  
"{Ranma, be careful? Just this once?}"  
  
Ranma quirked one side of her mouth. "But why start now?"   
  
"AS A FAVOR," tolled the leaden tones of the tall, black-robed  
skeleton, "FOR ME."  
  
Ranma gazed up into the skeleton's empty eyes for long moments, meeting  
its blue-shot gaze. Then she rose on tiptoe and grasped its head in  
both hands and kissed it firmly on the teeth, before she turned away.   
  
As Ranma and Akane left the black house by the side door, the girl in  
the blue t-shirt quietly said, "I'll sing for you."  
  
As they passed the hedge-gate Ranma quietly said, "I know."   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma did not speak as she set a rapid course through the side streets  
and alleys of that city, nor did Akane as she followed. As they jogged,  
Akane noted that the houses and the very stones of the streets were  
rapidly growing translucent, as though they were fading away.   
  
Behind her she heard the start of the chorus of the bells, but it  
quickly faded, and they found themselves on the top of a tall hill, or  
ridge. The ground was blasted earth and barren, crumbly rock, and the  
heavy hot air smelled faintly of rot, and of scents that speak to the  
universal instincts of all who smell them in oratorios of corruption  
and decay.  
  
Passing along the top of the ridge, Akane was relatively pleased to  
note a broad, well-made road of stone, leading down the ridge and  
across the plain below.  
  
"Well," she whispered, as they walked to the side of the road and  
skulked forward in the shadow of the tall stones that marked its  
borders, "at least we'll have a good road if we have to come back in a  
hurry."   
  
"It won't be here on the way back," Ranma said calmly.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Facilis decensus Averno," Ranma quoted, "sed revocare gradum  
superasque evadere ad auras,/Hoc opus, hic labor est-"  
  
"Which means?"  
  
"Down is easy. Up is hard."  
  
"I'm _so_ glad I have you to tell me these things."  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Down the hill they went, flitting from shadow to shadow, and across the  
blasted plain below.   
  
They traveled for several hours by Akane's count, though she did not  
grow tired. Akane could see no other travelers on the road or off it,  
nor did she sight any patrolling force, either on the plain or in the  
air above it.   
  
Ranma, however, progressed in fits and starts by some method of her  
own; now holding to the deepest shadows, now sprinting for a dolmen or  
stone several gaps beyond the next one; but always, always aware of all  
around her, scanning the sky and the ground. Akane followed her step  
for step, shadow for shadow, and dash for dash as the long, hot day  
wore on.  
  
At last they began to come near castles or fortresses cut into the  
irregular basalt mesas that covered the plain. From these, whenever  
they approached closely enough, came alternating faint shrieks of pain  
and equally faint howls of glee.   
  
Akane shuddered as they passed these most closely, and huddled closer  
to Ranma in the increasingly more infrequent shadows. At each closest  
approach, Ranma would spend a few moments scanning the hellish fort  
from the deepest cover available. Finally, she spent more time than  
usual, and Akane turned her sight on the castle as well.   
  
Ranma seemed to hesitate in the great boulder's shadow, as though  
awaiting a more tangible sign. If so, she received one. One especially  
loud shriek of pain rang out over the darkened earth and stone and  
Ranma's lips firmed even as Akane gasped in a shock of half-instinctual  
recognition. "Ranchan, that wasn't like the other screams. It sounded  
wrong. I ... think that may have been Sayuri."  
  
"Yah," Ranma said, "I'm afraid so." She tensed on her haunches, like a  
great cat preparing to spring and sprinted for the gate, Akane on her  
heels. Halfway there a cry of outraged discovery came from the  
battlements, followed hard by a rain of badly aimed missiles.   
  
These seemed like javelins or arrows, but raised spurts of a hellish  
flame where they landed; Akane resolved not to get hit by any. At the  
end of their sprint Ranma pounded up to the main gate, flattening  
herself against its rough timbers, under the eave and safe from fire.  
Akane followed, panting.   
  
"At least," Akane huffed, "they haven't heard of murder holes."   
  
"Be thankful for small favors," Ranma said, dryly, as a glare of heat  
and light burst from the plain behind them. Then she stepped a little  
away from the gate and put her hand flat against it. A moment passed as  
she tensed her shoulders and then the wall and gate began to rumble in  
a deep bass.   
  
From above, shrieks of rage turned to shrieks of fear, shrieks quickly  
silenced by a bellow of command from inside the fort. Ranma pressed the  
gate harder, and the whole front wall of the fortress began to tremble.  
From within came another bellow of command.   
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"Someone once said, 'Give me a lever long enough, and a place to stand,  
and I will move the world.' A lever's just a device for concentrating  
force over time." Ranma tensed her shoulders further, "Or you can do it  
with shih instead of a big stick."  
  
Akane Saw immediately what she meant; Ranma was accumulating power in  
the wall, every moment's small pressure adding to the one before,  
growing moment by moment to a force that would rip the gate from its  
hinges. Akane also Saw that the wall was resisting, spreading out the  
power Ranma was putting into it into the entire front wall of the  
castle. Though if it continued to do so the only result would be the  
eventual destruction of the wall instead of just the gate.   
  
Lastly, Akane Saw how the trick was managed, a simple application that  
caused her to shake her head in wonder that she had not done it herself  
automatically. That, fortunately, was a failing she could rectify.  
Squaring her shoulders she placed both hands on the gate and began to  
push. Her efficiency was not as high as Ranma's, but her greater  
strength made up for the loss and the wall began visibly to vibrate.   
  
Vibrate like an over-stressed high-tension wire, but only briefly; from  
within the walls came a final bellow of command and then Akane _felt_  
the wall stiffen into immobility as the demonic Marquis within exerted  
his will and linked the wall to his aura. The impact of the three wills  
colliding nearly drove Akane from the wall in shock, but only briefly.  
She showed her teeth in an entirely unconscious snarl as she redoubled  
her effort; pouring all of her will into the struggle she pushed with  
everything she had.  
  
The struggle continued for a timeless moment as the wall motionlessly  
vibrated from the conflicting energies, and then three things happened  
at once.   
  
From within the walls new screams of fear and pain arose, screams in  
entirely new voices.   
  
At the gates Akane growled in a pitch worthy of an angry bear and found  
reserves of strength she hadn't known she had.   
  
And Ranma snarled silently and drew back her hand from the gate,  
twisting at the torso to wind up before bringing her hand forward again  
in a curiously slow manner that conveyed a sense of unstoppable motion,  
almost leaving ghost images of the hand and arm behind it as it came  
forward and struck the gate.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The Marquis Delaniel, Demon of the Seventh Rank, had a problem. Not  
only had he wasted resources on this mare's chase proposed by the  
patron of that deluded Jei, resources for which he would eventually  
have to account to _his_ patron; but the only prize which had actually  
been secured in the whole disgraceful affair had proven surprisingly  
recalcitrant. This had not put him in a good mood.   
  
The further development that his own sanctum was under assault had  
driven him to the brink of berserker rage. The fact that his gates,  
constructed under his own eye, might fail, that his castle's defenses  
might actually be breached was simply insupportable.   
  
He had, therefore, committed his own will and power to the defense,  
reinforcing the strength of the wall with his own life force. The fact  
that the unendurable scum outside his wall were overcoming even the  
merest shadow of his presence had thrown him into a howling rage and he  
had immediately thrown the full weight of his power behind his will.   
  
This meant that he himself was bearing the full brunt of Ranma and  
Akane's push, of course, and it was most unfortunate that his  
concentration left him incapable of noticing the fiery cracks which  
were spreading across the walls in front of him and, more importantly,  
across his own body.   
  
The cause of his final, fatal distraction is open to debate. It might  
have been simple overstrain from exertion. It might have been Akane's  
sudden burst of power. It might have been Ranma's Thousand Times Blow.  
It might even have been the spoon.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
A demon was torturing her.   
  
Just for a change.   
  
This one seemed to find it amusing to remove her skin in a spiral  
pattern. Perhaps it found some obscure aesthetic pleasure in it. Or, it  
might have just been bloody minded. For whichever reason, it seemed  
obsessed with achieving the 'perfect' pattern, 'healing' her and  
starting over whenever it made a mistake. Or, at least, until it made  
its _real_ mistake.  
  
She heard the cries from the wall dimly, through her body's screams.  
They pricked her interest; they might mean that an opportunity would  
arrive. Then she noted the presence of the demonic leader. He had not  
come within her purview often during her torment, apparently preferring  
to use underlings for any actual work, but his presence here now was an  
encouraging sign, and his obvious agitation even more so.  
  
The servitor demon's first mistake was to ignore the cries from the  
walls in favor of his own pursuits. Its second mistake was to fail to  
immediately acknowledge the presence of its master, a mistake  
immediately corrected by a kick to the backside. The servitor scrambled  
after its master (its third mistake) to be greeted by a backhanded  
slap, and a snarled command to return the captive to safe-keeping, and  
then to man the walls. Since all other forces were organizing for  
defense it felt it must perform these tasks alone (its fourth mistake).  
But its final mistake was to leave the prisoner's arm unoccupied for  
two seconds while struggling with her feet.  
  
The demon had left her arms free! And, oh look! A spoon! Wasn't that  
kind?   
  
Now to see if, when she gutted a demon, they could heal themselves as  
well as they could when they lied to her.... Hmmm. Nope, looks like  
they couldn't.   
  
And this one had left her _two_ knives, _and_ a chain, _and_ a hot iron  
too! So kind.   
  
Now she could find _lots_ of demons. And, what luck! Lots of demons  
coming this way!   
  
Now, what to use? Hmmm. Well, she'd start with ... oh wait, she was  
still holding the spoon; that wouldn't do, she'd already used it. Well,  
she'd just throw it at ... _that_ one. It was cracked and glowing  
already, maybe it would break? Now, let's start with _this_ knife ....  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The blow was minor, but totally unexpected. It cannot possibly have  
hurt the Marquis by itself; but it was not 'by itself' in any sense. It  
certainly got his attention. One second the demon-lord was straining to  
hold the aura of the walls with all his might, the next ....   
  
It was not precisely an explosion. Rather, the whole front wall of the  
castle, the Marquis' physical body, and the main gates fragmented into  
cinder-block sized pieces and rolled over the hapless demonic servitors  
like a storm.   
  
Sayuri, who was behind the demon she was busily introducing to the  
concept of mortality, was completely untouched. Which only goes to show  
how important it is to keep your mind on what you are doing.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The stone-storm rolled over them, and fear followed it. Behind them  
their once-prisoner was giggling madly and carving up their fellows  
like a housewife carving up a frying chicken. To either side were still  
intact and very solid stone walls. Above them the alarm was already  
ringing, but what help would that be to them if they died first? In  
front of them were only two females, to keep them from an exit 50 yards  
wide.   
  
It has often been said that everyone gets one mistake. Unfortunately  
for the remaining demonic servitors, theirs had already been made.   
  
They stampeded for the exit.   
  
From within her jacket Ranma drew her sword, and smiled.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Briefly, Akane managed a spasm of amazement. She _knew_ that Ranma was  
red-haired death unleashed, but it simply _was not possible_ to move  
that fast and still swing a sword that precisely. Not that Ranma seemed  
to care whether it was possible or not, and Akane charged through a  
gentle mist of demonic ichor to reach Sayuri's side.   
  
"Eeewww! Ick! Sayuri! Put that _thing_ down and come on. And for  
heaven's sake throw away that poker! You'll put someone's eye out."  
  
"Oh! Akane-san!" Sayuri casually discarded the iron and rushed to hug  
Akane. "You came! Thank you, thank you!"   
  
"Come on you guys," roared Ranma, "they're all dead, but there's going  
to be demonic air cavalry on this whole area like a fungus in about 15  
minutes!"   
  
Sayuri put the knife she was holding in her belt (which had returned  
along with her skin when she had broken her bonds) and ran for the gap,  
picking up the knife she had left in a demon's throat as she went.  
Akane followed, pounding towards the way home, and the whole thing  
would probably have ended simply, had not Delaniel made a mistake.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Permit, if you would, a brief digression.   
  
Demons lie. The fact is well known.   
  
What is less known by most is the degree to which this is true.   
  
The truth is, there are no demons. There are merely spirits. Animated,  
sentient expressions of the meanings of creation. Some lie to  
themselves, and say they are different. Special. Better. Far too  
important to waste time on being good, on keeping creation running the  
way it's supposed to.   
  
After all, it's much more fun to lie. To say that they control all the  
forces of death and darkness. To say that entropy was their invention.  
To say that free will was their discovery. To say that they own half of  
creation outright. To say that the place of the dead and the place of  
correction were both the same place, and both theirs.   
  
Demons lie. The fact is well known.  
  
Delaniel, in particular, was a Marquis. A border Count, that is to say.  
A rebel of rank and power. Named, and Listed, and possessed of a Word,  
that is - a concept of Evil to protect and call his own. A Worded  
demon, moreover, whose Word subsumed other Worded demons whose  
servitors had Words of their own.   
  
A powerful being was Delaniel, the Demon of a concept which translates  
from the celestial as [Rude Strangers in Places where Humans gather to  
Await Transportation].   
  
( I hear you snickering from here. Such a small concept, you  
say. What difference could it make? What harm could it do?   
  
Indeed, what harm?   
  
Rudeness in such crowded surroundings is only to be expected,  
after all. And one person, whom you do not know, makes little  
difference.   
  
That's why it's much more important to focus on the _big_  
things. The small things never matter.  
  
What harm does rudeness do?   
  
Someone gets a little farther ahead than they should. Someone  
makes a number of people's day a little darker. Someone  
erodes the bounds of respect and courtesy between people a  
little. Someone tempts other people to do the same, slightly.  
Someone gets everyone they touch a little angry.   
  
Little things, no harm.   
  
After all, it's not as though it was a big person being rude.   
  
Big people are _never_ rude, though sometimes little people  
_do_ get in their way. But that just involves their being  
brushed aside or run over, not _rudeness_. And big people  
don't have other people be rude to them, usually. Or, if they  
do, they can just splat the person, no worries.   
  
No, only little people are rude; only little people have  
rudeness inflicted on them. So it really doesn't matter.  
  
( Once, Another had said "Whatsoever ye do to the least of  
my people, that also ye do unto me." Delaniel was at  
some pains to ridicule this concept.  
)  
  
And if one of the people being inflicted with rudeness is  
yourself? Well, A person's gotta get by, you know? Gotta look  
out for number one, right? Have you tried it? You really  
should, you know.  
  
I mean, it's not as if it _matters_, if you're rude to  
people. Time is valuable. You've only got so much effort to  
spend. Got to keep your eye on the big picture. Got to keep  
up with the important stuff.   
  
Really, it _is_ old fashioned to try to defend civility like  
that. Archaic, even. People should know better.  
  
Why, the rain forest is being cut down, even as we speak! The  
spotted owl is dying out! Spending effort being polite to  
strangers in train stations is just a waste of time!   
  
You can't afford to sweat the small stuff. After all, the  
small stuff doesn't matter.  
  
And, when you think of it, how many people, really, are truly  
important enough to you to be polite _to_? Just a few, right?  
Just a few people, besides yourself, who really _matter_ to  
_your_ best interest?  
  
Your Mom and Dad, your close family, your SO, the kids if you  
got them, your boss, of course, his boss, maybe, that cop,  
naturally, that super-model/idol singer. Not a lot.  
  
And sometimes the difference between 'some', and 'none', is  
no difference at all.   
  
Which is why you've got to pay attention to the small stuff.  
Sometimes, the small stuff _matters_.  
)   
  
The point, of course, is that such a powerful demon as Delaniel would  
never concentrate all of his power in one place. Only a small amount,  
to provide a body to yell at the servitors, and the rest dispersed,  
keeping tabs on his Word.   
  
When Ranma and Akane's combined pressure caused his body to be  
destroyed it deprived him of a focus for his consciousness and power.  
In an ordinary demon such a loss would lead to instant cessation, but  
Delaniel was not an ordinary demon.   
  
Those beings known as demon-lords normally provide themselves with  
special artifacts designed to give them an anchor in cases of  
emergency, generally concealing these in some safe place. Delaniel's  
was secreted in a blind hollow in the back wall of his castle.  
  
This presented him with a problem. He could now cut his losses, wait  
for the intruders to leave, and then hunt them down and extract  
revenge. On the other hand, his castle had been ruined and some of his  
servitors had been killed.   
  
A small thing, true, of no real importance.   
  
And yet: he was a demon of position, he had responsibilities.   
  
His political position would be damaged if it became known that he had  
been attacked and not retaliated.   
  
On the _other_ hand, if he took a personal hand and failed to actually  
_destroy_ the intruders as they deserved, if they _escaped_, his  
position would suffer worse losses yet.   
  
On the gripping hand, the slut his servitors had been tormenting would  
certainly have difficulty moving fast enough to escape, and the other  
two would probably be fatally delayed trying to assist her. And they  
_would_ assist her, he was sure; heroes are predictable like that.  
  
And there could be no question of the outcome. The false body holding  
but a fraction of his true power might be disfunctional, true, but in  
his true power, on the celestial plane, no human could be his equal.   
  
It was a simple question of celestial laws - on this plane he could  
only be damaged by celestial power, which humans did not have.   
  
No human _could_ have sufficient power, the laws of creation forbade  
it, and skill would not suffice to substitute; the web of lies that  
define a demon-lord's existence are too strong to overcome by mere  
mortal, corporeal truths.   
  
Only once, he knew, had any mortal, had any _being_, challenged this  
fundamental rule. And those ... were gone. They had won their battle  
and then ... well, _no one_ liked the implications.   
  
A mortal that could kill celestial powers? Permanently? No one wants  
that kind of weapon around, it might get pointed at them. The last one  
had died, oh, _centuries_ ago. There were none left, none at all. No,  
there could be no danger.   
  
So that was why Delaniel made his mistake. Because the difference  
between zero and one is a small difference, but sometimes it makes all  
the difference in the world.   
  
That's why you have to pay attention to the small stuff. It's always  
the small stuff that matters.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
They had gathered in the quiet room to watch and wait.   
  
Yuka was there, of course, clasping her hands so tight they were white.  
Sayuri's father and older brother too, holding her hands, and her  
mother, still in her wheelchair, waiting at her bedside.   
  
And Nabiki, in the corner, watching over Ranma and Akane, and praying.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The back wall of the castle crumbled with a roar of unleashed power.  
Ranma spared a single moment to roar "RUN!" at Akane and Sayuri, and  
then turned to face the form that now loomed above the ruins. She slid  
sideways into the center of the ruined wall, blocking the demon's path  
toward Akane and Sayuri, fleeing across the plain behind.   
  
Delaniel rose above the rubble of his hiding place, brushing shredded  
stone from the shoulder joints of his wide-spread wings. His face was  
cat-eyed and cruel, framed by scraggly locks of multi-colored hair. He  
wore a sarariman's suit and tie, expanded to fit his 20-foot-tall form  
and wound about with barbed wire. His cuff-links and tie-tack were made  
of the skulls of human babies, his face was cruelly scarred and twisted  
and his right hand bore a huge serrated sword.  
  
"First you, and then the other sluts," he growled in a low, chilling  
voice, "Die!"   
  
Snarling, he thrust himself forward, with a clap of his scraggly-  
feathered wings, swinging his sword back for the death stroke.   
  
Ranma, already in zanshin, flowed inside his guard and jumped forward,  
uncoiling into a thrust to Delaniel's chest. Her attack sank into his  
heart with sufficient force to turn him partly around; and Delaniel's  
eyes went wide in shock as Ranma called upon the power of an ancient  
bargain, sending it flowing down into the wound and flashing out to all  
the dark corners of his body and soul, proving that there are certain  
truths that will unravel any web of lies.   
  
Ranma thrust herself sideways in mid-air, rotating Tenchuu inside the  
demon-lord's chest cavity before ripping it free from his rib-cage in a  
shower of blood. Delaniel's sword slipped free of his relaxing hand,  
rotating forward end over end to hit the ground hilt first, remaining  
upright momentarily before falling over with a pathetic *splut*.   
  
It was covered by the demon-lord's falling body, which crashed to earth  
and slid forward on its side for several meters before slowly rotating  
over onto its back to lie still, looking upward at the sky with an  
expression of vast surprise and a certain hidden peace in its empty  
sightless eyes.   
  
Ranma landed lightly and spun on one foot, returning Tenchuu to its  
sheath. Above and behind her a great wail rose to the sky, hate and  
fear and rage intermingled, and far behind her she heard the first  
responding roars. She sprinted forward, passing the corpse without  
further comment, streaking for her running friends ahead and looking  
for a place to make a stand.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
But it's the small things that make a difference.   
  
Take, for instance, the difference between Bronze and Iron.   
  
Bronze is an alloy of Copper and Tin, Iron is a metal that must be  
mixed with carbon to be useful. Bronze is fairly easy to produce and  
work, but difficult to get in quantity. Iron is more difficult to  
process, but is fairly common. The metallurgical characteristics of  
Bronze are similar to those of early wrought Iron, so you would think  
that there wouldn't have been much of a basis to choose between them  
early in mankind's history.   
  
If you thought so, you would be wrong.  
  
If you were meta-historically inclined, you might remember the legends  
of Iron's supposed lethality to demons and spirits and conclude that  
this was the deciding factor. You would still be wrong, in a nice and  
accurate sense; Iron isn't particularly more damaging to demons than  
any other random metal you might care to name.   
  
If you favor economics you might speculate about the logistical  
advantages provided to a tribe that didn't have to depend on Phoenician  
Tin traders. Or, if you are more inclined to the military profession  
you might decide that the wider availability of arms and armor turned  
the trick. But there wasn't much else of strategic interest to trade in  
back then, and the conquering Iron Men were mostly barbarians at the  
start, and had little arms beyond spears and bows and axes anyway, and  
there would have been enough Bronze for that.   
  
At this point you might throw up your hands, and conclude that there  
_was_ no difference, but you would again be wrong. Because, once upon a  
time, the difference between cast Bronze and hammered Iron was a very  
great difference indeed.  
  
There is a Bargain that once was made by those who linked the Iron in  
their blood to the Iron in their blades. There is a power available to  
those who share the blood that made the Bargain. There is a Price that  
can be paid to Those Others Who made that Bargain, and a Prize that  
that Price can buy. There are those who were Chosen as champions, to  
fight and win a battle in an ancient War, a battle in which they had no  
hope of victory, except ....   
  
Except for those who made a Bargain; not always to win the battle, but  
never to lose the war; not always to survive the fight, but always to  
destroy the foe.   
  
Except for the Iron Men.   
  
Except for the Invincible Ones.   
  
Except for those who came down from the hills in their thousands; and  
broke the hold of the demons and the spirits and the magic warriors and  
destroyed them or drove them away from the cities and valleys they had  
ruled; and turned an Age of Myths and Legends and Powers into an Age of  
Men; and ignited a furnace of hatred and rage that has neither waned  
nor grown cold in four thousand years.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma was running.   
  
Running as though all the hosts of Hell were after her. Oddly enough,  
they were. Ahead, she could easily see Akane and Sayuri running too,  
but there was no point in catching up to them until she decided where  
to make her stand.   
  
She could not attempt to make it all the way back to the wall. For one  
thing, the demons would catch her first. For another, they would not  
stop their pursuit at the wall: rather, they would follow her anywhere  
she went. _That_ grudge was old and bitter, and the First of the Fallen  
would never pass up an opportunity to destroy an Invincible once he had  
marked one down.  
  
So she could not fight to save her life. And even if, somehow, she  
managed to evade her pursuers, their rage was well and truly woken. If  
they did not find a fight in her, they would seek one elsewhere, and  
with Sayuri fully celestial and unprotected ....   
  
Oh well, it wasn't like she had been expecting to die in bed anyway,  
and she would definitely go out with an escort. But she must somehow  
save the other girls.   
  
Well ... that would require a certain amount of delay. If she could  
keep the demonic host's attention long enough for Akane and Sayuri to  
get to the wall and go over, then there would remain no link to attract  
the host's wrath. Keeping the host's attention would be easy enough,  
but she must also keep _all_ of its forces in play and not allow any to  
go after an easier target. That meant ....  
  
The 'landscape' of the celestial plane is determined as much by the  
meanings sought or found there by its inhabitants as by anything else,  
so the result when one side wants to find clear sailing to its prey and  
the other wants to find a choke point should be obvious. Particularly  
considering that one of the sides is Ranma.   
  
"In yon straight place, a thousand/Might well be stopped by three ..."   
  
Words once written by a poet. They were written of a bridge, but Ranma  
was willing to write them of the great canyon walls that narrowed to a  
gap some hundred yards wide and perhaps five hundred long that loomed  
before the girls now.   
  
As they passed into the gap she increased her speed and caught up with  
the others, pulling Akane to a stop. "Acchan, you've got to get  
Sayuri-chan to the wall and put her over."  
  
"Ranchan, you can't stay here! They'll catch you, and ..."   
  
"Acchan," Ranma said gravely, "they're going to keep coming until they  
catch me regardless. But if they catch me _here_ they may regret it."   
  
"I can't leave you here, Ranchan!" Akane panted, "They'll ...."   
  
"Acchan, if they catch Sayuri-chan on this side of the wall, they'll go  
right through it and out into Nerima, where they'll kill everyone they  
can catch, definitely including Nabiki and probably Kasumi, your Dad,  
and everyone else in the whole ward. And Sayuri can't run fast enough  
to get away."  
  
"But, Ranchan, you'll _die_!"  
  
"Acchan, swear! On your soul's honor, _get Sayuri over the wall_!"   
  
"I ... Ranchan," Ranma's eyes bored into Akane's, cleaving her tongue  
to the roof of her mouth, "H-hai, hai, Ranchan." Akane hugged Ranma  
fiercely and turned away. Ahead of her she could blurrily see the steep  
incline leading up away from the borders of hell, and toward the dusts  
of Earth beyond. Fiercely, she attacked the slope, rapidly gaining on  
Sayuri, who had continued running.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Behind her, Ranma turned around and watched the approaching demonic  
armies. After a moment's scrutiny she began to grin, and then spoke  
aloud.   
  
'Tis mute, the word we went to hear  
on high Dodonna Mountain,  
When wind was in the Oakenshaws  
and all the caverns tolled,  
And mute's the Midland's navel-stone  
beside the singing fountain,  
And echoes list to silence now  
where Gods told lies of old.  
  
I took my question to the cave  
that never ceased from speaking,  
The Heart of Stone that tells the truth  
and tells it twice as plain,  
And from the cave of oracles  
I heard the priestess shrieking,  
That she and I would surely die,  
and never live again.  
  
Oh priestess, what you cry is clear,  
and sound good sense I think it,  
But let the screaming echoes rest,  
and froth thy mouth no more,  
'Tis true there's better booze than brine,  
but he that drowns must drink it,  
And Oh my lass, thy news is news  
that men have heard before.  
  
She took Tenchuu in its sheath and threw it high in the air, rotating  
around and giving off a gleam at its apex, before falling back down to  
be snatched from the air by a sideways snap of her hand. And, softly:  
  
The king with all the East at heel  
has come from lands of morning.  
Their armies drink the river up,  
their shafts benight the air.  
And he that stands has died for naught,  
and home there's no returning.  
  
The Spartans, on their Sea-wet rock,  
sat down and combed their hair.  
  
Then she replaced Tenchuu inside her jacket. The sword is a tool for  
killing, and order of the day would be maiming and terror, for a while.   
  
Out of jacket-space she took a kusari-gama and whirled its chain in a  
wide circle above her head, laughing. The haft and handguard of the  
war-sickle was made of blackened steel, covered with runes and  
ideograms, but the blade of the sickle was a silvery ivory fang many  
times harder than simple steel. In partial repayment of a debt a lord  
of dragons had given her a fang, and sharpened it for war. The chain of  
the weapon was cut of bone that shone white-silver like the fang, each  
link barbed on upper and lower surface and decorated with small  
ideograms at each corner. At the end of the chain a larger link flared  
out into a barbed arrowhead shape that seemed to resemble the  
silhouetted head of some fierce beast.   
  
Spinning the chain around her head, she listened to the howl of the  
whirling chain and laughed again.   
  
Once, she knew, there had been tens of thousands. But the battle had  
been won and the demons, and the Fae, and the Magic Warriors, and the  
ghosts, had retreated from the lands of men.   
  
And with their retreat had gone the need for invincible warriors, and  
with the need gone their allies had quietly withdrawn. No celestial had  
ever been comfortable with the Invincible, save, perhaps, Those Who had  
created them, and Those Powers played no favorites. So the forces they  
had defeated had snarled in the darkness and gone hunting.   
  
It was no more difficult to kill an Invincible than it was any other  
human. They could win any fight, but the price was that they must win  
_every_ fight, regardless of the cost. They could destroy any foe, meet  
any challenge, but they must destroy _every_ foe, must face _every_  
challenge. And so the traps had been baited, and Invincibles had died.   
  
And fewer and fewer new warriors had stepped forward. Bloodline after  
bloodline had lost the knowledge of their heritage, going into cover  
and forgetting in order to survive. And where there had been tens of  
thousands were only thousands. And then hundreds, and then a few dozen,  
and then less than a dozen. And then there had been less than five.  
  
And now the very last Invincible alive stood in a bottleneck on the  
outskirts of Hell, and watched the first racing demons coming toward  
her, and cried out in a great voice, "Come to me, ye hosts of Hell!  
Come to me, an Invincible is calling! The storm is waiting for thee,  
the void yawns before thee! Come to me, Hell-spawn! Come to me and  
die!"   
  
And she grinned, wryly, as the first scattering of demons entered the  
canyon, and she sent shih raging down the links of the kusari-gama's  
chain and loosed upon those front-runners the wrath of the dragon. And  
lightning leapt and capered from rock to stone to wall to earth,  
scorching demon flesh at every crossing and blasting great holes in  
demonic bodies and souls before it finally gave up its energies in a  
torrent of unfocused electricity that earthed itself through the few  
remaining alive.   
  
And then came upon her, not a few demons, but dozens. The first, faint  
combers of the waves that would crush and rend. And Ranma leapt to meet  
them, bannered by lightning and heralded by thunder, riding on the  
wings of storm.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Akane ran, forcing her body to take deep, full breaths, ignoring the  
tears streaming from her eyes. No time for gasping or panting, now, no  
time for tears; she must call upon every ounce of courage and skill  
that she possessed. Ranma was counting on her to get herself and Sayuri  
to the wall between life and ... this place, and Akane would rather die  
than delay that arrival by so much as a single moment.   
  
Far rather die.   
  
Now, too late, she must admit the truth. She loved Ranma. Not 'her  
friend', not 'sensei', not even 'Ranchan'. But always and only Ranma,  
her beloved.   
  
She did not understand how it had come to happen. She had despaired of  
its arrival, and now, too late, she despaired of its departure.   
  
Behind her, her beloved was fighting, battling an impossible army to  
cover her retreat.   
  
Within her, her soul wept in anguish; Ranma would die, be torn apart,  
and _she_ was running away! Her fault! Her fault: too slow, too weak,  
too stupid, useless, unskilled, no good!   
  
'Ranchan! I'm _sorry_ Ranchan! Oh, Kami I love you! I'm sorry! I want  
to be with you, Ranchan, I'm sorry!'   
  
Briefly, tears threatened to blind her sight. Savagely, she shook them  
off and upbraided herself. Stupid, useless, weak, childish: stop! Ranma  
must hold until she reached the wall, all she had to do was run.   
  
A minor spirit, a kind of demonic lizard, leapt from its  
hiding place to grab her thigh, teeth sinking deep. Her next  
stride flung it away, to smash against a rock further down  
the path and lie stunned and dazed in the track. Unseeing and  
unfeeling, Akane trod it underfoot.   
  
Head fixed on the slope and the horizon, arms pumping, feet spraying  
dust where they pushed back, Akane ran.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
In a quiet room, a body knelt in a circle in a larger circle. Hidden by  
its pants, a bruise was forming on its thigh. A thin prickle of blood  
drops sprang up around the bruise and quickly dried.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Arms and legs pumping, Sayuri ran.   
  
Her legs and torso hurt terribly, her lungs screamed for air, her  
breath gasped and wheezed in the dry, choking heat, and dust clogged  
her mouth; but all these things, she knew, were lies. Truth was waiting  
somewhere up ahead of her, a world that was real.   
  
The knives tucked into her belt were real too, she thought, but that  
did not get her to the end of the road any faster. (She wished that she  
_could_ use the knives to do _something_, but only faintly.) Lies all  
about her and within her, but the truth was waiting at the end of the  
road.   
  
Yearning for the real world, Sayuri ran.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
In a canyon on the borderlands of Hell, a storm was raging. Demons  
choked the space between the walls of the canyon, packed in so thickly  
that there was barely room to move or turn, tripping over the maimed  
bodies of their fellows at every step. Bodies that moaned or snarled or  
weakly struck out. Through and above and around them Ranma rampaged  
unrestrictedly.  
  
Wherever she went she kept up a constant barrage of thrown knives. The  
great, slender, wickedly curved fangs flickered out in vicious arcs to  
slice through arms or legs or throats, as many as four or five in one  
arc, before curving back to her off hand, pulled by a thread of shih,  
and being sent out again.   
  
Snapping arcs of the sickle blade caused havoc wherever she passed. The  
chain flicked out in seemingly unrelated arcs, snapping into victims  
like a striking snake and curving barbed links around them, or sinking  
its carven jaws into arm or leg. Then a curl of steel would jerk the  
victim off its feet and into the air, curving past Ranma where a fang  
would gut or cripple it before releasing it to smash into a group of  
its hapless fellows. Then the cycle would begin again.  
  
Wherever she landed a blur of hyper-fast punches and kicks smashed  
demons from their feet and sent them falling into their fellows,  
tripping them and fouling their coordination. Wherever no space was  
left to land, a lightning bolt would blast a hole. A web of howling  
energy was sweeping and sparkling from the walls, sucking up the energy  
from the dying demons and arcing in coruscating beams from walls and  
pinnacles; sending sprays of boulders and shards from the walls to  
cause further havoc in the demonic horde and smashing everything from  
the air except Ranma herself.   
  
Beaten by a howling wind and blinded by lightning, packed in like  
sardines and jostled like the bumpers in a game of pachinko,  
uncoordinated, unfocused, undone and uncontrolled, the demons were  
barely capable of resistance. Jostled, unaimed hellbolts filled the  
air, and poor aim and reflex strikes by claw or sword did far more  
damage to other demons than to Ranma.   
  
An ordinary host, even the most fanatical, would have at least  
attempted retreat. But the pressure of arriving demons behind was too  
great and more and yet more were coming, charging up from the depths of  
Hell in a nearly infinite stream. Behind them came oblivion, and even  
now its awful shadow darkened the very air and sent sulfurous fumes  
rising from the trembling stone. Far back and slow a darkness loomed,  
and the hapless demons of the vanguard fought and scratched and bit and  
tore, less to destroy the dancing storm-flame in their midst than to  
get past her and out of the way. Even the certainty of destruction  
Ranma carried with her was less terrible than the looming shadow.  
  
Moment by moment more demons arrived to choke the storm's passage.  
Moment by moment the pressure grew. The difference between unaimed but  
enthusiastic counterstrikes and no counterstrikes at all was  
infinitesimal, but it was there, and it, too, grew greater bit by bit  
as time went by. Small differences, incremented by smaller ones yet as  
the minutes slowly passed. But sometimes it's the small differences  
that count.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
In a quiet room, a body knelt in a circle inside a larger circle.   
  
Small wounds began to appear on its arms, legs and torso. No more than  
a a half inch long each, they gave off a drop or two of blood and  
quickly faded to thin scars. The average increase in size of each  
successive wound would have required a micrometer to measure.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Akane and Sayuri were half-way up the slope when the demons pounced.  
Not all the demons in Hell had been _in_ Hell that day; some had been  
present in the notional area of reality Ranma had walled off from the  
rest of Hell with her canyon.  
  
A small patrol was closer than the other strays and had set a 'trap'.  
Unfortunately for them no one had thought to tell them about Sayuri and  
her knives. Thus, when a thorny bush tried to ensnare Sayuri, she had a  
knife out and hacking branches inside half a second. Blessing Ranma's  
instruction in the simple trick, Akane drew a tai-chi sword from  
jacket-space and cut the bush off at the roots. The two girls continued  
running ... which is why they weren't where the demons had anticipated  
when they sprang their ambush.  
  
A pair of demons suddenly sprang out at Sayuri, landing slightly away  
from her in startlement at her changed position. Both her knives were  
in hand immediately; here was something on which she could use them  
without guilt. They were _knives_ after all; Sayuri was quite a good  
cook, and was experienced at using knives. A fact the demons were  
appraised of, to their immediate but brief sorrow.   
  
In the mean-time Akane had been accosted from behind by three more  
ambushers who attempted a dog-pile. The attempt was, from their  
viewpoint, utterly and fatally unsuccessful.   
  
Evading the clumsy grab, Akane whirled gracefully and instinctively cut  
one's throat before removing the others' heads with a pair of vicious,  
lightning-fast blows. Within her soul, a fire was burning, turning ki  
and flesh and blood into a perfect instrument of will, an instrument  
that was unleashed on the next six demons, who had made the fatal  
mistake of being in the second rank.  
  
The last group of servitors had assumed a distant blocking position,  
prepared to retrieve any prisoner who might escape the grasp of those  
closer in. In the event, it did not save them; Sayuri ran over the two  
in her path, slicing flesh and bone as she passed. The remainder got to  
appreciate the purity of will and energy embodied in an inferno named  
Akane. Very briefly. The firestorm swept over them and pounded up the  
slope on her charge's track.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
In the canyon, the storm was growing in intensity. The clogged bodies  
of the dead, trampled, and maimed were posing a genuine problem for  
demonic attempts to move out of the canyon. Or, indeed, to move into  
it. One might, at this point, wonder at demonic motivation. Or, in  
other words, why are all these demons running so merrily to their  
nearly certain destruction?  
  
The answer can be stated simply: it was nearly certain destruction.   
  
Whereas, on the other hand, the great lords of Hell, currently rising  
from the Pit and pushing entire demonic armies ahead of them as they  
come, are the sorts of beings for whom inflicting fates worse than  
death are a pleasant morning's diversion.   
  
And when a demon calls something a fate worse than death, you may be  
sure that it knows whereof it speaks. All Ranma could do was kill them,  
and that death was embraced nearly eagerly, given the alternatives.  
  
Ranma noted little of this, though. By now her facial expression had  
locked itself into a gentle smile over an almost inhuman serenity.  
(Though, had she not been so deep in zanshin, it is likely that she  
would instead have been wearing a grin wide enough to crack her face.)  
Nor was the serenity only skin deep. Her wide, peaceful eyes, while not  
focusing on anything in particular, were gathering information on the  
totality of the battle she was fighting that would have made a J-STARS  
chief sensor-tech turn green with envy. Her other senses, especially  
her chi-sense, were equally active, and she seemed, from her own  
person-view, to be hovering slightly above the battle even as she was  
entirely immersed in it.   
  
Internally, her feelings were mixed. It was true that she was enjoying  
the fight, enjoying it immensely. It was a unquestionably righteous  
fight too, fought against true evil for a truly good cause. On the  
other hand, she knew how it would end. She did not fear death, no, but  
neither did she welcome it. Particularly not _now_; she had too much to  
do, and was leaving too much unfinished. 'Death,' she thought wryly,  
'might be lighter than a feather, but just now it's damned  
inconvenient!'  
  
Unfortunately, inconvenient or not, it was inevitable. She made an  
adjustment to her attack patterns that cleared the canyon entrance and  
packed the interior a little more.   
  
As long as she held it to the single fight to keep the horde bottled  
up, she knew she could hold forever. But she knew that it could not  
remain just that fight for long. Eventually, one of the greater powers  
would come against her. Even sufficient order being restored to the  
current mob would be quickly fatal. Before that could happen, though,  
Akane and Sayuri would reach the wall; and after _that_ nothing  
mattered.  
  
She made another vaulting leap and again contemplated the arrangement  
of the host pressing in to the canyon. When the end was inevitable, she  
planned to move out onto the plain before her and see if she could hunt  
down a prince or two. Possibly even see if she could get close to the  
First himself. She doubted it was possible, but it was an adequate  
closing gesture, and perhaps she could make one or more of the high  
nobility of Hell metaphorically mess their pants.  
  
As long as Sayuri and Akane reached the wall.   
  
No, be honest: as long as Akane reached the wall. Not that she had  
anything against Sayuri, by any means. She had been very impressed by  
the girl's courage, and, under other circumstances, would have looked  
forward to calling her a friend.   
  
But she did not love her, and she did love Akane. It was really that  
simple, and she wondered how it had happened. She had _told_ herself  
not to fall in love with the other girl, but apparently herself had not  
listened. In some sense, being killed was probably going to save her  
from an immense number of problems, but being pleased about the whole  
affair was considerably more melodrama than Ranma had the stomach to  
attempt.   
  
Not to mention, she was exceedingly pissed off. Partly, she felt a mild  
anger that some people couldn't let go a grudge after four thousand  
years. Partly, she was mildly irritated that she wouldn't be able to  
die in her proper shape. But mostly, she was utterly enraged that  
someone was going to kill her for things she hadn't been able to get in  
on herself. This thought caused her to pull down a section of canyon  
wall in a mild expression of pique. The wall fell on thirty or so  
demons and reduced them to paste.   
  
With another corner of her mind she was keeping an eye on Akane's  
progress, admiring the girl's form, and cheering her fight against the  
patrol. She was prepared to intervene with missile fire, though she  
doubted it would be necessary.   
  
With most of the rest of her mind, she was surveying the tactical  
situation, and she sent herself on a bounding triple somersault across  
two hundred yards of canyon floor, reaping arms left and right and  
finishing with a snap of her kusari's chain that plucked a demon who by  
size must have been at least a Count off its feet and pulled it close  
to carve out its heart and lungs before flinging it a hundred feet into  
the air. The corpse's fall, she estimated, would crush at least a dozen  
lesser demons beneath it. Serene at heart, the storm raged on.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Unfortunately for Akane and Sayuri, there had been more demons out than  
just one patrol. More unfortunately, the second batch was smarter.   
  
Pounding down into the last shallow valley before the long steep run to  
the top, Sayuri was suddenly hit in the leg by a burst of hellfire.  
Shrieking in shock she fell and rolled down the hill, only to be jumped  
on by a trio of demonic troopers. Akane dodged the three missiles that  
came her way and plowed into a squad of about twelve demons, killing  
three at first shock, but then being forced into a defensive posture by  
the remainder.  
  
Sayuri soon proved to those demons trying to restrain her that they  
would better have aimed for her arms. A flurry of knife blows reduced  
all three of her would-be captors to steaming corpses in moments, and  
she ignored the damage to her leg and the knife blows to her side she  
had received in return for the lies they undoubtably were and staggered  
onward.   
  
Past the two back-ups the ambushers had placed ahead of the girls she  
ran, killing them in passing, and again set herself to the slope  
beyond. Akane had gasped out the importance of what they were doing as  
they ran, and she would no more fail Ranma-san than Akane would. If  
only it weren't so hard to see....  
  
Akane ran toward one demon, then curved into a forward roll between two  
others, sword flashing. She snapped upright, spinning to her left with  
her sword out, cutting into the rib-cage of the demon who was charging  
her from that side.   
  
Then her sword jammed in the ribs momentarily, slowing her enough for  
five more demons to jump her at once. Akane went down, striking out to  
her right side, as a demon grabbed her around the legs and another pair  
wrapped her around the chest. The fourth tried to grab her throat even  
as the fifth spasmed and died, and the last two demons in the squad  
took aim with hellbolts from a little away.  
  
Akane smashed her feet up, driving the demon holding them into the one  
grabbing her throat, dazing both and throwing them away. The fourth  
demon looked up from his brief daze to see the two squad missilemen  
falling with holes blown out the fronts of their foreheads and decided  
to tackle the other one instead. The other dazedly got to its feet as  
Akane rolled over and over with her assailants.   
  
Furiously, she struck out at one demon, smashing the blade through its  
stomach, only to cut into its skull on the back-swing. From its sudden  
corpse was released a sewer reek of death and things unnamed and  
probably best left unnameable, and Akane ripped the blade free from its  
sticking place as she rolled over above her other foe and struck  
downward with the hilt again and again, breaking bones and tearing skin  
before crushing the thing's throat and bashing in its skull.  
  
Coming back to her knees, Akane saw the fourth demon running after  
Sayuri and grunted with effort as she threw the sword straight and flat  
into its back, just above the hips. Wailing, it fell to its knees,  
grabbing at its back where the sword pierced it. Shuddering, it folded  
over, weakly scrabbling in the dust and drooling ichor from the mouth  
and nostrils.   
  
Akane rose onto one knee in preparation for rising to her feet, but  
stopped and twisted desperately on her knees as a shadow loomed over  
her.   
  
Before her, on the top of the low rise, stood the last demon, snarling  
and holding out doubled, clenched hands around which had built up a  
blaze of hellish, green fire. Akane began to throw herself forward in a  
knowingly futile attempt to duck, but then stopped as a large hole was  
suddenly blown in the demon's forehead from behind. Its eyes opened  
wide in shock and as it died it lost control of the hellfire, which  
blew its hands and lower arms off in a shower of gore and fire as the  
rest of its body dropped slowly to its knees before falling over on its  
back.   
  
Akane got to her feet and rushed up the rise, reaching the top in time  
to see Ranma turn back towards her foes far away, putting something  
back into her jacket. 'Oh, Ranchan! Even from there you're still  
looking out for me. Oh, Ranchan, I love you.'  
  
Dashing away another treacherous tear, Akane turned back to the slope  
ahead of her, looking over her shoulder briefly at the sound of wings.  
Far away, but gaining, she could see another group of about twelve  
flying demons. She had, she estimated, just enough time to reach the  
top of the wall. With a last look over her shoulder at the canyon  
below, Akane set herself to run.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
In a quiet room far away, and yet very close, the still form laying on  
a hospital bed began to breathe deeply and unevenly, turning weakly  
from side to side and gasping, as though struggling for breath.   
  
In a corner of the room, one of the bodies kneeling inside a pattern on  
the floor suddenly grew a set of long scratches on its arms and a  
shadow about its neck, as though some cruel claw had gripped there. The  
shadow faded quickly but the scratches were slow to close.   
  
On the back of the other body kneeling there a long, shallow wound  
opened and waited some seconds before beginning to close, slowly.   
  
Watching from outside the circle, Nabiki began to chew on one  
fingernail.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Sayuri knew that the pains in her chest and the growing weakness in her  
limbs was a lie, but somehow she could not see through the growing  
grayness to see what the truth might be. Suddenly she felt a set of  
gentle but immensely strong arms close about her and lift her off the  
ground to be cradled against someone's chest. Groggily, she shook her  
head enough to observe Akane holding her to her chest as she ran, face  
grim and fixed as she stared at some distant goal.   
  
Good old Akane-san! She'd get her there, she was sure! Now, if only she  
could remember where they were going, and why ... if only it wasn't so  
hard to think ....   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
In a hospital bed, a slight form began breathing much more shallowly,  
chest barely moving. At bedside, Dr. Tofu checked a monitoring  
instrument and frowned worriedly.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Akane ran up the slope with Sayuri in her arms. Only a few hundred  
yards to go now. Behind her the sound of wings was growing swiftly  
closer, but there was nothing _ahead_ of her to stop her, and those  
behind could not close the distance fast enough to prevent her from  
discharging her task.  
  
  
Close growing, thorny scrub lifted runners to trip her and the equally  
thorny branches of a number of middling high scrub bushes attempted to  
bar her path, but she powered through them without slowing, unheeding  
of the deep scratches and thorn-stabs they left behind. Blind to  
everything but her goal she reached within herself for her deepest  
reserves and drank deeply from the fountain of fire within.  
  
A distant corner of her consciousness registered a mighty roar of power  
from far behind her. Spurning the ground beneath her racing feet, Akane  
ran up the slope to home.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma bounced of the canyon wall and killed a demon with a backhand  
sickle blow, concentrating the ch'i it released as it died into a free-  
standing 'cold' point.   
  
"Hiryuu!"   
  
With an enormous leap over the whole floor of the canyon she  
established another on the corpse of a pair of lesser soldiers.   
  
"_Shoten!_"   
  
Flipping into the center of the circle of 'cold' ch'i points she had  
just finished forming, she landed in the midst of a cluster of about a  
dozen demonic officers, accepting a pair of minor slashes in return for  
setting their dieing ch'i ablaze.   
  
"HAAAA!"   
  
'Pulling' a line of shih around the circle of 'cold' points, she  
completed the attack sequence, and called the cyclone to war.  
  
Blades of solid shih flamed inward from the wall of the canyon at a  
dozen points. Each struck one of the 'cold' ch'i points dead on,  
sweeping it up and spinning inward in a spiral pattern to their common  
center. There they met the 'hot' ch'i point, imploded it, and sank into  
a hyper-dense ball, roiling with counter-polarized ch'i and shih for a  
single flaming instant.   
  
Then the ball exploded, sending a swirling mass of intermingled ch'i  
and shih spinning outward to the walls of the canyon, picking up  
ferocious wind currents along the way. The ring of energy rebounded off  
the canyon walls, returning inward, setting up counter-currents of  
high-speed wind.   
  
Perhaps twenty feet inward from the walls the outer ring met the second  
ring that the swirling vortex of energy at the center had given off.  
  
Met and combined, combined and split, split and redefined themselves.   
  
A column of energy eighty yards wide, covered and shielded by multi-  
hundred-mile-per-hour winds erupted from the floor of the canyon, its  
rear edge less than twenty yards from the canyon's rear gate. It picked  
up and shredded every demon in its boundaries, leaving only a thin  
scattering of luckier demons behind it toward the rear mouth of the  
canyon.   
  
As it rose to the sky Ranma rose with it, riding the vacuum of the eye  
toward its apex and turning to look behind her, toward the wall, and  
Akane.   
  
Less than a hundred yards away, now, she judged. Enemy forces closing,  
but, she briefly tracked their _rate_ of closure, too slowly. Nothing  
ahead to bar the way she noted, giving the area between Akane and the  
wall a brief but deep scan with her chi-sight.   
  
Excellent. Mission accomplished.   
  
Her goal was achieved, and her fight won. That meant it was time to  
shift to a new fight, and she considered the hosts of Hell cowering far  
below her as she rose to the top of her storm.   
  
A last fight, and, she judged, a good one. Penultimately, she briefly  
considered the overall situation. There were regrets, yes, but only  
minor ones.   
  
In the end, all people die, and to die in the service of one she loved  
seemed, to Ranma, as the best category of ending any one of her destiny  
could make. She considered the love for which she was giving her life,  
and found it right and proper.   
  
And in the still and tranquil silence of the eye of the cyclone, there  
was peace upon the heart of the storm.  
  
As she neared the final apex of her rise, she carefully replaced all  
the weapons she had used in their individual resting places. It was not  
her way to show disrespect for any tool she used when it might be  
avoided, and the need for these tools had, temporarily, passed.   
  
No more need to maim and terrorize.   
  
No more need to hold their attention.   
  
The time for distraction had ended.   
  
The time for killing had arrived.   
  
As she reached the apex of her rise and began her fall, Ranma drew her  
sword.  
  
And smiled.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma and Akane: A Love Story  
Chapter 5: Fortuna Imperatrix Mundi  
Part C: Under The Axis  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Akane almost made it.   
  
Less than fifty feet from the wall, one of her demonic pursuers proved  
to have an exceedingly rare talent, and shifted the ground beneath her  
feet. The resulting stumble cost her almost no ground; but small  
differences can lead to big ones.   
  
A demonic hand grabbed her flying hair less than ten feet from the  
wall. Twisting her torso half back towards her pursuers, Akane exploded  
in one last effort, lofting Sayuri's unconscious body in a flat, fast  
arc across the last ten feet, and over the low stone wall. As it  
crossed the wall it rippled in mid-air, and disappeared, and Akane went  
down under the impact of a dozen winged demons, a few more pulling up  
at the last instant.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
In the hospital bed, Sayuri gave a sudden gasp and sat half-way up and  
out of bed. The people attending her rushed to meet her as her eyes  
opened, and her father and brother quickly moved to support her as she  
met her mother's eyes.   
  
Blinking a few times, she seemed briefly to focus as she crossed gazes  
with a tearfully smiling Yuka and even gave a weak smile herself. But  
then her eyes fell closed and she slumped back into her father and  
brother's arms as a dead weight, as Dr. Tofu desperately reached for  
emergency materials, and the connecting monitors began to ring alarms,  
all their readouts showing the same flat line.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Akane threw herself into a forward roll, bringing one demon over the  
top of her body and grinding it beneath her as she came out of the roll  
and jumped up. The demon who had grabbed her hair had, perforce, let  
go, and Akane left her feet in a whirling jump-kick that smashed into  
another demon's head, breaking its neck and throwing Akane herself a  
little sideways, into a relatively clear area and away from the  
intersecting hellbolts that would otherwise have fried her.  
  
Snap-drawing her throwing knives, Akane shih-sheathed and threw them in  
a single motion, two knives flying from each hand to suddenly veer  
apart in mid-air, each knife flickering on slightly differing  
trajectories to settle neatly into its own particular demonic throat.  
Following through on her throw, Akane drew a large, ugly mace from  
jacket-space, and charged the remaining demons.   
  
The one most immediately in her path jumped up, flaring its wings in  
dismay, rising about ten feet off the ground. Akane also left the  
ground, soaring in a rising jump kick that smashed the demon from the  
air, sending it down to the ground with Akane on top of it, landing on  
her feet, and pulling through into a powerful downward blow.   
  
Rebounding from the skull she had just crushed, Akane converted her  
recovery into a powerful upwards diagonal right-to-left, anticipating  
the demon who attempted to rush her while she was occupied with the  
flyer, and impacting its chest just under the breastbone. The impact  
shattered the demon's chest and lungs, lifting it about six feet into  
the air and sending it to the side, where its corpse fouled one of its  
compatriots.   
  
Meanwhile, the transferred impact had allowed Akane to regain control  
of the mace faster, and she used the extra time to steal a march,  
stepping into the attack of a pair of demons ahead of her. Whirling her  
mace in a vertical circle, Akane knocked their weapons out of line,  
nearly jarring one's axe loose from its wielder's hand. Finishing the  
circle with her mace held horizontally, head to the left, Akane stepped  
behind the demon to her right, bringing her torso around in a smashing  
reverse blow to the back of its head with the mace's finial spike; then  
unwinding into a sideways blow to the demon on her left that slid over  
its weaponless guard to pulp its head like a popped water-balloon.  
  
Returning her mace to a mid-guard, two-hand grip, Akane turned eighty  
degrees to her left, to meet the charge of another demon. Blocking its  
sword-swing away to her lower right with the mace, Akane spun her right  
foot into a leg sweep that took its footing out from under it. The  
demon stumbled, opening its stance onto the perfect form to receive  
Akane's returning kick into the groin, stunning it and dropping it  
rolling to the ground. Quick-stepping forward, Akane brought her mace  
to shoulder guard for the death-blow ... and made a small mistake.  
  
A small mistake. A minor error. A downward blow a bit too forceful, a  
recovery a bit too far, a return not quite to center. The next  
attacker, coming from her left again, threw its long knife.   
  
Small differences compounded: a dodge not quite fast enough, a shallow  
cut across the shoulder not quite compensated for, a block made the  
tiniest bit too low. The demons reaching claw-like hand came over her  
blocking mace and cut into the side of her face.   
  
Three of its claw-tipped fingers scored bleeding gashes across the side  
of her face and nose. The last slid across the outer top of her cheek,  
and plunged into her eye, cutting the eyeball in two and reducing the  
remains to jelly before the tip broke off inside the socket and the  
rest of the claw skipped across the top of her nose.   
  
Letting out a high, keening shriek, Akane spun away, the mace arcing  
from the hand that she clapped to her ruined eye. Stumbling away, she  
lost her footing, and sprawled helpless on the barren ground.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
A body kneels in a circular design in a no-longer quiet room. Wounds  
have opened on its cheek and nose, and an oozing mass of clotting blood  
is leaking from beneath the lid of its closed left eye.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
In the end, it was her father's training that saved her.   
  
Once, long ago at the very beginning of her real training in the Art,  
he had spent an entire day on a single drill. It taught, he said, that  
a warrior must not lose focus or control simply because his or her  
opponent has landed a blow. The warrior who wins her fights and  
survives, he said, is the warrior who understands that pain is merely  
information, and who can acknowledge that information and go on.   
  
For one entire day he had made her go through basic kata and hit her as  
she reached the crucial point in each. Again and again he had repeated  
the drill, until she had been able to complete any kata she could do,  
even if she was hit painfully hard at the exact wrong time.   
  
A kindly man, Soun Tendo, and devoted to his daughter. A kindly man who  
had been hard for one day, for just long enough to teach that daughter  
a lesson in the hard rules of survival. A kindly man who had then  
stayed drunk for an entire week, and had never attempted to teach that  
lesson again.   
  
One lesson, delivered long ago by a kindly, doting parent. One lesson,  
polished into instinct by years of personal practice.   
  
Akane had always prided herself on being 'tough'. On being able to take  
a blow and still fight. 'Go ahead and hit me,' she had once told a  
sparring partner, 'I don't break.' In that moment, instinct and bone-  
deep training fought for her life, and searched for any chance at all.  
  
Rolling over as she fell, Akane's right hand scrabbled for purchase on  
the ground. Sliding across the dirt, it fell upon, and closed on, the  
hilt of a weapon.   
  
Rolling over onto her back and coming to one knee, she brought the ...  
blade? ... up to block away a demonic sword-blow so forcefully as to  
throw the demon who had perpetrated it into another to its side, then  
came erect with a massive, diagonal bottom-right-to-top-left slash that  
cut through the first demon's midsection and its compatriot's chest,  
exiting from the top of its right shoulder in a spray of bone and  
ichor.   
  
Setting her feet firmly beneath her, Akane reversed the long sword's  
blade and swept it back to her right, cutting off both demons' heads in  
passing. Rage and hatred blocked the pain, and her face was set in a  
snarling mask as she compensated for the missing half of her peripheral  
vision, turning her head in little sweeps left and right. Finding no  
flankers, she returned the sword to middle guard and lunged at her  
remaining foes.  
  
The combat was brief. Two demons were before her side-by-side, with  
another three in a cluster beyond them and to their left. Akane went  
between the first two with an attack Ranma had drilled her on,  
soukongou, twin thunderbolts.   
  
The long, intricately guarded hilt of the sword was perfect for  
controlled two-hand use, she found, and the grey, double-edged,  
chisel-point blade seemed positively eager, leaping to the attack and  
lopping off demonic heads as though they were but heads of grain.   
  
Beyond the two were three more; one leapt forward, one followed  
cautiously, one hung back. Akane met the first's attack with a sideways  
skip and a crossing blow that cut its throat before a turning kick  
smashed it into the third, knocking it from its feet. She stepped  
forward into the second's way, cutting through its guard and its body  
with an equal lack of ceremony. Recovering from the blow, she slid over  
to where the third demon sprawled, reversed her grip on the sword, and  
thrust downwards, once.  
  
Turning to look down the slope she had just climbed, Akane was startled  
to notice that the distance had changed. What had been a run of long  
minutes going up was perhaps a thousand yards or so going down. She  
supposed that was part of what Ranma had meant.   
  
Ranma.   
  
Reluctantly, she turned her single gaze to the canyon mouth. She could  
not see all the way into the canyon, having apparently moved a little  
to the side, but she noticed a thin scattering of demons spraying out  
from the canyon mouth. Ranma herself she could not see, but she _could_  
see demons clustering thickly just inside the mouth of the canyon,  
walling off the exit. Further inside, a storm was raging, lightning  
exploding off the walls and the rocks that lined the canyon's rim.  
  
'She isn't going to be able to break free,' she said to herself,  
'they're already behind her.'   
  
'No,' she replied quietly, 'she's not. And I think she knew that when  
she sent us up here.'  
  
Akane remained standing quietly, looking down on the plain below for  
long minutes, and the pain in her ruined eye was matched by the pain in  
her heart.   
  
'She told us to get out of here,' she finally ventured.   
  
'No,' she replied, 'she told us to get _Sayuri_ out. We've done that.'   
  
'Look at it this way,' she argued, 'What could we do if we were with  
her, except die?'   
  
'Look at it this way,' she answered, 'What can we do _without_ her,  
except die?'   
  
Tears slowly began to drip from her right eye, perhaps matching the  
slow drip of blood from the left.  
  
'She wanted us to get out,' she said slowly, 'to survive.'   
  
Her hand came up unconsciously, gently touching the scars on her left  
cheek, slowly exploring their extent.   
  
'_I_ don't want us to get out, or survive, unless she survives too.'   
  
Her probing fingers encountered her eye socket. 'And besides, some  
bastard down there owes us an eye.'  
  
'So we go down there and die?' she asked.   
  
'So we go down there,' she replied, 'and die.'   
  
Akane withdrew her sword from its resting place with a *squelch* and  
took her first step down the slope.   
  
Two steps later she was jogging.   
  
Three steps after that, and then she ran.  
  
The outriders were the first to notice her. Spreading out from the main  
battle, most were, by definition, looking for something safer to do  
than challenging an Invincible. A wounded girl running toward them  
looked tailor made. They formed a battle line and sent out a net of  
skirmishers, in case she should get away. Yelling their battle cries,  
they raised arms against her.  
  
As well might the iron ingots cry out against the blast furnace. As  
well might the stalks of wheat take up the sword against the scythe.   
  
Reaching the entrance to the canyon, she was momentarily distracted by  
a small squad of demonic soldiers making a suicide attack from just  
outside the canyon to her right. As the last demon died Akane saw,  
beyond it, a small secondary canyon leading off into the badlands in a  
new direction.   
  
Spinning on her heel, she ran swiftly into the mouth of the canyon  
proper, cutting down another small party of demons. Just inside the  
canyon mouth she ran into the main horde, beyond them she could catch  
glimpses of lightning fast destruction.   
  
Cursing, Akane plowed into the back of the demonic army, desperately  
swiveling her head from side to side to scan the whole field of her  
foes.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
In a room both near and far away another battle was taking place.   
  
Dr. Tofu instituted emergency resuscitation procedures as another  
doctor, hastily summoned, ran in the door. The crackle of electrical  
paddles and the humm-hiss of artificial respiration units sounded over  
the numbed prayers of Sayuri's father and brother and Yuka's weeping,  
muffled by Sayuri's mother's chest.  
  
In the circle in the corner, two bodies grew and healed collections of  
wounds. Gashes and scars covering exposed arms and occasionally tracing  
across still faces.   
  
Battle wounds, Nabiki knew. The minor and major injuries sustained by  
people who are fighting for life, or things more precious yet.  
Clenching her hands into white-knuckled balls she silently urged them  
on.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Turn ... block left, strike up ... v-step over blow ... pear-splitter  
... helicopter ... circle block to low thrust feint to v-strike  
inverted.   
  
Don't bother with _their_ actions; they aren't important. Victory is  
achieved by the correct control of flow and timing. Act in such a  
manner as to force their errors, then take advantage.   
  
Twin-thunderbolt ... break-the-fortress ... spin around push, and  
_kick_ ... slash-feint to lunge ... parry to riposte, turn left and  
_strike_.   
  
Don't listen to your doubts or fears, listen to her voice. Beloved  
voice, '"When they outnumber you, you have to get in amongst 'em,  
Acchan. Remember that they may be bigger than you and they may be  
better than you, but you don't _ever_ have to let them be _meaner_ than  
you. So _use that advantage_! And don't get killed. It'd make me get  
all depressed."'   
  
Low-to-high-to-high-to-low diagonal cross ... jump and _cut_ ... feint  
left and roll right and slash _up_ and then whirl to block and _heave_.  
  
A demon went flying into a group of its fellows and then Akane heard  
the roar. Before her the demonic army lifted up into the air as Ranma  
called the Hiryuu Shoten Ha again. And there she was, riding the  
cyclone up into the sky.   
  
If Akane had had a rope, she could have thrown it to her and yanked her  
away to where she could run. Akane had no rope to throw, but she threw  
one anyway.   
  
"_Ranchaaan!_ _CATCH!_"  
  
To say that Ranma was startled would be to considerably underestimate  
the case. She had been concentrating on her quest to find a worthwhile,  
accessible target to the exclusion of all else, and had not seen  
Akane's charge. As she caught the rope and began to swing she also  
began to rage.   
  
Catching up the power of her storm, she collected it and let the winds  
die. Sending a small amount of power down the rope, she fixed a point  
midway down in space and swung to a landing near Akane. As she neared  
she began to snarl, but then caught sight of Akane's face and fell  
silent as her heart sent up a wail of grief. "Acchan, wha...."  
  
"SHADDAP! RUN! THAT WAY!"   
  
Suiting deed to word, Akane pounded for the rear mouth of the canyon.  
Re-sheathing her sword, Ranma followed. Behind then a roar went up, and  
the demonic armies lunged for the canyon mouth in pursuit.  
  
As she reached the rear of the canyon, Ranma stopped and whirled.   
  
Concentrating all the power she had remaining from the storm that had  
raged in that canyon, she made a small change to its substance, and  
released it into the canyon walls. Already sensitized by repeated  
battle strikes and magic releases, the walls responded. The upper six  
meters of their surface turned to energy and roared out onto the  
frontal plain, focused by the remaining walls.  
  
The canonical sound-effect for this type of action is:  
*Krakata-THOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!*   
  
Ranma and Akane fled into the side canyon, quickly finding that it  
forked and re-forked, spreading out into a web of pathways. Ranma led,  
changing pathways randomly as she ran. "So," she panted, "what's the  
plan?"   
  
"Fuck if I know," Akane responded, "I hoped _you'd_ have one."   
  
"Oh great! We're gonna die!"  
  
On the plain in front of the canyon a shining figure rose to its feet,  
smoking. Slowly, it looked around itself, and sprang into the air and  
rose, shining like a star. As it rose, it let off a roar of hate and  
rage that can only be described as cataclysmic.  
  
Over her shoulder as she ran, Ranma glimpsed the shining figure. "Oh  
great! We really _are_ gonna die!"  
  
The First of the Fallen looked down from his height at the canyon-maze  
where his enemies hid. More or less at random, he destroyed part of it.  
It wasn't the right part, but the demons who had been flying down it  
got to die forever in excruciating agony anyway.  
  
Ranma ran frantically, Akane on her heels. She ducked around a corner  
and fled down a side passage, picking a new direction at random at its  
end.   
  
'We're _dead_!', she said to herself, 'We can't hold off the First. We  
can't get _to_ him, and there isn't _anywhere_ he can't go after us!'   
  
Two passages later, she replied, quietly, 'Yes there is.'   
  
A dash down a rocky corridor, '_Oh_ no. We gotta save Acchan's life  
here. We can't go _there_! Fuck, that'll kill her too!'   
  
Turn left, down the canyon floor, left again. 'Death _there_ may be  
retrievable. Death at the first's hands is not. This is a fight to save  
Akane. _That_ is how we win. Do it, Invincible!'   
  
Skidding to an instant halt, balanced on her back foot, Ranma formed  
her fingers into the call position for the Butterfly's Kiss. Done one  
way, this technique will reduce rock to powder. Done another, it will  
rend a human being asunder. As Ranma did it now, the floor of the  
canyon for a hundred yards in front of the two girls broke apart into  
small square surfaces which vanished like a bad CGA effect, leaving a  
gaping hole down into a black infinity.  
  
Slamming to a halt on the very edge of disaster, Akane sheathed her  
sword in automatic reflex, waving her arms for balance.   
  
Behind her, Ranma exploded off her back foot, gathering Akane into her  
arms and jumping out with a mighty leap. Out over the rift, and then  
down, into the dark.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Paddles snapped and contacts closed. Sayuri's body jerked in reaction,  
and then moved, slightly, on its own. Monitors jerked off flatline and  
began to *beep*. And the watchers around the bed slumped slightly in  
relief.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
And in the sky over a blasted plain, a shining figure howled in a  
frustrated rage forty centuries old.  
  
And in a castle in the Scottish highlands, the redhead fell down,  
shocked. The short-haired brunette shivered, uneasily, and the long-  
haired one looked up from what she was doing to trade worried glances  
with the blue-skinned man with the odd face and the blonde girl with  
the tail.   
  
The tall blonde man near the hearth looked clueless, of course, but  
_that_ was normal, so nobody noticed.  
  
And in the choking darkness of the depths of the Pacific Ocean  
something awoke and stirred. Tasting Wrong, it turned its head toward  
the distant invisible light.  
  
And in a shrine in the mountains of central Japan, a man came upright  
from a position of meditation.  
  
And in a gun shop in Chicago, two young woman shivered briefly, as  
though feeling a chill breeze.  
  
And in a business office in Hong Kong, a middle-aged woman echoed them.   
  
And in a clean, well-lit room in the sewers under New York City,  
another meditator came awake.  
  
And in a small town in America, a man turned to his scrying crystal.   
  
And in a city made of stone, the chorus of bells fell silent.   
  
And in many other places, many people shivered, or turned to search out  
an enemy, or used senses magical or mundane to track down a sudden  
feeling of Bad.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
In circles within another circle two bodies sat silently.   
  
And exhaled, with a long, quavering hiss. And did not breathe again.   
  
Outside the circle, Tendo Nabiki put her face into her hands and began,  
silently, to cry.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
You can turn off 'O Fortuna' now, if you like.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
  
|  
|  
|  
|  
\ /  
:  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Down.  
  
  
It   
was dark.  
And silent.  
There was no light,  
no sound.  
Not even the rush   
of wind.  
Not even the flashes you get   
behind closed eyelids.  
  
Just darkness,  
and silence.  
And she  
was all alone.  
  
  
  
And she  
  
f  
e  
l  
l  
  
d  
o  
w  
n  
.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Darkness.  
It was dark,  
and she  
was falling  
all alone.   
All alone.  
  
There was  
nothing she could see,  
nothing she could touch.  
She moved her hands,  
waved them about,  
but there was nothing.  
  
  
  
She patted herself,  
to make sure  
that _she_ was there,  
and she was.   
  
So that was something.  
  
  
  
She felt her face.  
  
(Her eye! Her eye was gone!)  
  
(It had been gone)  
  
(before)  
  
(before it was dark)  
  
(when she stood at the wall)   
  
(and turned away)  
  
(press on.)  
She patted her chest  
and shoulders,  
she moved down her body,  
and touched ...  
what?   
Arms?  
  
Why were there arms?  
  
Were they _her_ arms?   
But  
they couldn't  
be _her_ arms,  
because she couldn't feel herself feel them.  
So whose?   
  
  
Then she remembered.  
  
Ranma!  
Ranma was with her!  
They must be Ranma's arms.  
  
Ranma was with her!  
She wasn't alone!  
  
  
She clasped her hands over the arms   
where they crossed,   
and held them.  
  
  
They were  
Ranma's arms,  
she was   
with Ranma,  
falling down,  
into the dark.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
They fell,  
and civilizations  
fell with them,  
and were reborn   
from dust,  
and grew again,  
and flourished,  
and faded,  
and fell once more.  
  
And worlds  
passed by,  
and gave birth to life   
and grew old   
and died.  
  
And suns   
grew old,   
and died,  
and new suns  
were born;  
and Galaxies  
were born,   
grew up,   
grew old,  
crashed together,  
and died,  
and were reborn  
in fire.  
  
And Universes ended  
and new universes began,  
and time went by,  
and the Wheel turned round,  
and she was with Ranma,   
and Ranma was with her,  
and it  
  
was   
dark,  
  
and they  
  
fell  
down  
.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Hold on!   
  
You must hold on.   
  
If your grip fails, you end, and she ends, and you fail.   
  
If _her_ grip fails, the same.   
  
Will her strength, will her to hold.   
  
No way of telling, no way of knowing.   
  
Until it's too late to help.   
  
And it is dark and silent and there is no way to tell if your grip will  
hold and no way to tell if _she_ even _is_ holding and if either fails  
both fail but this is a fight and you cannot lose a fight and you are  
Invincible but there is a cost there is always a cost and the cost may  
be more than you can pay and it is not enough to hold out you must also  
survive to guide _her_ out and if you spend all your power now and  
leave none but you must win you must spend the power to win you must  
and if you have not the power then you must find more and will _her_  
power she must have power and it must be enough ...   
  
...and you must hold ...   
  
... and love must find a way ...   
  
... and if it does, or if it does not ...   
  
... hold on.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
There is a place that is not a place.   
  
In that place there is an Ocean, that is not an Ocean.   
  
And the water of that Ocean (that is not water) rolls forever flat and  
still, beneath a starless, moonless, sunless sky. (Though some say it  
is a desert, and that the sand is black, and harsh, and does not gleam.  
(Though there is no light in that place _to_ gleam.))  
  
When you go there (and you will) you will find nothing, except that  
which you bring.   
  
No guides bring boats there, no one will ferry you across. You must go  
yourself, using only what you have, and it will take you however long  
it takes, and it will cost you whatever it may cost.   
  
And all these things, of course, are metaphor, for a somewhat more  
complex reality.  
  
Into that place, Ranma brought Akane, and Akane brought Ranma. Into a  
place where there is nothing, except that which is brought, they  
brought each other, falling from an infinite velvet sky.   
  
And the night-black water (that is not water) of that ocean (that is  
not an ocean) swallowed them.   
  
Without a splash.   
  
Without a ripple.   
  
Without a sound.   
  
And in that place of silence, silence reigned.  
  
Briefly.  
  
Until the sky began to fill with light. With a sprinkling of burning  
dust. With a widening scatter of illuminated diamonds, and with  
luminescent shards of emerald, and amethyst, and ruby, and topaz, and  
pearl.   
  
As though someone had taken the combined gem collections of the world's  
museums, and smashed them with a sledge-hammer, and set the shards  
afire, and scattered them across the endless velvet sky.   
  
For in that place you will find nothing, except that which you bring  
with you. And Bushiko Ranma, whose name had once been otherwise and  
would be otherwise again, surfaced from the nighted depths of that  
ocean that is not an ocean, and brought Akane up with her.   
  
And lay on her back in the velvet water that is not water, and held her  
beloved to her breast while she coughed and sputtered.   
  
And smiled upwards, tiredly, into the sky.   
  
And the sky was _alight_ with stars.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
*Cough*, *hkk*, *cough*. A small voice, "Ranchan?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Are we dead?"  
  
"Kind of. It depends."   
  
A small time went by. Finally, Ranma shook herself slightly and turned  
over in the water, still holding Akane above the surface. "I _wondered_  
why you didn't get in the pool the other day."   
  
"I've never been able to swim," Akane confessed ashamedly.   
  
"Well, fortunately, you won't have to." Ranma stretched out and began  
swimming, for a few strokes.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
Ranma's hand touched wood. "Look up for a minute, dummy."   
  
Akane heaved herself upright in the water, turned to bring her good eye  
into arc, and gaped in shock at the white wood of the hull of the  
sailboat bobbing gently in the water before her.   
  
Ranma suddenly boosted her toward the gunwale and she grabbed it and  
scrambled over, ('Don't look at her for a minute, dummy, you don't need  
the distraction of seeing her all wet in that silk shirt. And this  
might not be a good place to confess to being in love with her. And  
_don't_ think about where she just put her hand!') into the bow of the  
twenty foot long lateen-rig. "Ranchan! Where'd _this_ thing come from?"  
  
Ranma reached up and grabbed, then heaved herself over the side,  
('Don't look at her, dummy, you don't need the distraction of seeing  
her all wet in that silk shirt. And you need to get moving if you're  
going to get her back in time. And _don't_ think about where you just  
put your hand!' into the stern.) "Huh. Funny, it's gotten a little  
bigger."   
  
Ranma kept her head down and rummaged around the mast.   
  
"Ahh."   
  
She released a rope and brought the main spar into line, quickly  
raising and setting the sail.   
  
"Hey Acchan. Thanks."   
  
"Huh? For what, Ranchan?"  
  
"For coming after me. For coming _back_ after me. ... I guess you were  
right. I _did_ need you."  
  
Akane blushed, and stared intently at the deck. "Ahh, any time Ranchan.  
Any time."  
  
Akane suddenly felt a breeze begin to blow, raising a slight swell, and  
causing the little ship to gather way.   
  
"Now, Miss Tendo, if you will be so good as to summon and maintain a  
light, so we can see where we are going, I will try to get us to shore,  
where we can see about not having to _stay_ dead."  
  
Akane blinkied for a few moments, then scrambled to her feet. "Sure,  
Ranchan!" She held out her hands, concentrated, and summoned Fire;  
creating a fiercely burning beacon that sent out a cone of light to  
pierce the gloom before them.  
  
Before the wind, the little ship sped across the darkened ocean, bow-  
wave peeling back to either side and wake spreading out behind them,  
far off into the eternal night. They flew towards an unseen destination  
for an unmeasurable time, and Akane held the beacon steady before them,  
feeling an unexplainable exaltation, as though some factor in the sea  
or the boat or the wind was calling to her in wild delight.  
  
All things must end, however, and finally Akane saw a dark line at the  
limits of her beacon's reach. A line that rapidly drew nearer,  
revealing itself as a dark, sandy beach stretching across the ocean as  
far as she could see. Exultantly she shouted, "Ranchan, Ranchan, Land!"  
  
Heedful of her words, Ranma dismissed the wind and quickly lowered the  
sail. Running up the slope of one final swell, the graceful ship  
remained poised at apex for a brief moment before slipping over, and  
sliding down the long, shallow slope to run itself into the beach with  
a long, slithering hiss.  
  
Jumping down from the little ship's bow, Akane got out of the way of  
its rush, and stood waiting as Ranma walked to the bow, likewise jumped  
down, and tugged her jacket straight.   
  
Adjusting her scarf to her satisfaction, Ranma caught Akane's eye and  
winked. Then she started up the beach, walking strongly and swiftly.  
Akane followed, wordlessly.   
  
About a hundred yards up the beach, the sand gave way to rocks of  
varying sizes. Akane also noted the beginnings of a gradual slope, and  
began to dimly perceive a darker wall looming ahead. Ranma set out over  
the rockpiles toward this distant object, warning Akane in a low voice  
to be careful of her footing. Akane was well aware of the problem,  
gingerly stepping over and around stones and shifting piles of gravel,  
keeping her good eye sweeping back and forth, searching out the best  
path.   
  
Traveling on a few dozen yards, Akane looked up to discover that they  
had come to the base of a towering ridge, looming up into the darkness,  
barely outlined by the light from the gleaming stars. Ranma, she  
noticed, was not going up the slope, but rather searching along its  
base. Akane followed her along, gingerly testing her way across the  
treacherous scree.   
  
At last, Ranma gave a muffled exclamation of triumph. "Ha! Found it! I  
_swear_ the bloody thing moves! Come on, Acchan. Come over here."   
  
Akane picked her way up a small sub-slope and around a large boulder,  
to discover a stone nook set about ten feet into the wall of a sheer  
cliff. It was enclosed on four sides out of five, and was open to the  
sky over less than a third its roof. The boulders and rock-faces that  
surrounded it were coated with mossy accumulations that must have been  
centuries old, and she noted a great tap-root crawling over the top of  
one wall and over a square lip of ancient, worked stone, down into the  
pool of water that filled most of the interior of the hollow.   
  
Ranma knelt on a convenient rock at the edge of the pool and dipped  
cupped hands into it, bringing up palmfuls of water and drinking them  
down several times. Ranma then bent over and dipped her head into the  
water, ducking under to her neck and shaking her head back and forth.   
  
At Ranma's indicative motion, Akane also knelt and drank. The water was  
cool and pure, quenching her thirst on first contact and then returning  
it again so that the second drink was even more welcome than the first,  
and the third more welcome than the second. After five drinks, she  
stopped being thirsty, sitting back with a long sigh and feeling the  
internal fires soothed and quenched by the healing water, only to  
reignite again, stronger, purer, and higher than before.  
  
Motioning Akane to tilt her head back, Ranma dipped another palmful of  
water and poured it onto Akane's face, pulling out a handkerchief to  
wipe away the blood and serum. The water was cool and refreshing on her  
face, and Akane felt the pain begin to ease. More importantly, she  
quickly lost the immediate awareness of injury, and for the first time  
since her maiming she could truly concentrate on her surroundings.   
  
Seeing the relief in her face, Ranma grinned at her. "Good stuff, huh?"   
  
"Uh-huh. That's _much_ better, yeah. Thanks, Ranchan. Umm, Ranchan?"   
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Now what?"  
  
"Now we go up the cliff. About a hundred yards of climbing, and then we  
should hit a ravine and be able to walk."  
  
"How much time do we have?"  
  
"It's not so much time as intent, Acchan. As long as we don't slow  
down, get side-tracked or turn back, we'll be fine."  
  
"Well, let's get going then." As they rose to their feet, Akane had a  
thought. Lagging behind for a moment, she drew the sword she had found  
and dipped it in the pool, drawing it out and wiping it off with a  
cloth before returning it to its sheath. At Ranma's questioning look  
she shrugged, "Can't hurt ...."  
  
** She was climbing **  
search scan find reach grip move search scan find reach grip   
** up a wall. **  
move search scan find reach grip move search scan find reach   
** It was dark **  
grip move search scan find reach grip move search scan find   
** and quiet, **  
reach grip move search scan find reach grip move search scan   
** and she **  
find reach grip move search scan find reach grip move search   
** must spend more time, **  
scan find reach grip move search scan find reach grip move   
** too much time, **  
search scan find reach grip move search scan find reach grip   
** to find a way **  
move search scan find reach grip move search scan find reach   
** that she could go. **  
grip move search scan find reach grip move search scan find   
** Her arms hurt, **  
reach grip move search scan find reach grip move search scan   
** and she must move them, **  
find reach grip move search scan find reach grip move search   
** her legs trembled, **  
scan find reach grip move search scan find reach grip move  
** but they must stay firm. **  
search scan find reach grip move search scan find reach grip   
** It was hard, **  
move search scan find reach grip move search scan find reach   
** and she was tired, **  
grip move search scan find reach grip move search scan find   
** and afraid. **  
reach grip move search scan find reach grip move search scan   
** But there was moss **  
find reach grip move search scan find reach grip move search   
** for her to feel, **  
scan find reach grip move search scan find reach grip move  
** jeweled starlight above **  
search scan find reach grip move search scan find reach grip   
** to light her way, **  
move search scan find reach grip move search scan find reach   
** and the dark **  
grip move search scan find reach grip move search scan find   
** was far behind her, **  
reach grip move search scan find reach grip move search scan   
** like broken prison bars; **  
find reach grip move search scan find reach grip move search   
** and she was with Ranma, **  
scan find reach grip move search scan find reach grip move  
** and Ranma was with her, **  
search scan find reach grip move search scan find reach grip   
** and they climbed up **  
move search scan find reach grip move search scan find reach   
** to find the stars. **   
  
The climb was fairly brutal for Akane, her missing eye no longer  
hurting, but still hampering her field of view and depth perception.  
Finding hand-holds was harder; routes must be scrutinized more closely.  
Plus, a climb up a sheer rock face coated with moss in deep darkness is  
almost guaranteed to be an event long worth remembering. But, in the  
end, they reached the deeply cut, steep ravine, and began to climb the  
long slope.  
  
Now the going was somewhat easier, but also, paradoxically, harder.  
Akane needed to expend less physical and mental effort to move and to  
find her way, but this left her more time for brooding.   
  
Brooding was not, typically, the sort of thing that Akane did. She had  
always been one to resolve a situation in as little time as possible.  
Typically abruptly, in a manner that involved violence. This extended  
feeling of malaise was not something that she was well prepared to deal  
with.  
  
It was basicly, she decided, All Her Fault. If she hadn't come tagging  
along behind Ranma and jogging her arm, she would certainly have  
handled it better. She was just ... no good, really. It was harsh, but  
there it was. She loved Ranma dearly, but she knew that she did not  
deserve her. She never would deserve her. She'd just keep getting in to  
trouble and Ranma would come get her out and one day .... All Her  
Fault. She should just ... she should ....  
  
Walking in her own cloud of gloom, Ranma was drearly certain that she  
had forfeited any friendship Akane might ever offer her. She'd gotten  
her _eye_ cut out, for Kami-sama's sake! It was just impossible, she  
had no right ....  
  
Akane sighed mournfully, and Ranma immediately jerked her attention  
back to the 'real' world. Akane was definitely drooping, she noted.  
That would not do. Travel here in the celestial borderlands was as much  
a matter of will as of physical effort; despair could be fatal, in a  
literal sense.   
  
She would have to cheer the other girl up, immediately. But what could  
she do that wouldn't seem fake? Then she realized that she was being  
silly. Cases like this were what music was _made_ for, after all.  
Adjusting her stride to tap out the beat, Ranma raised her voice in  
song.   
  
When you're weary, feeling small   
When tears are in your eyes,  
I will dry them all.   
I'll take your part,  
Oh, when times get rough   
And friends just can't be found   
Like a bridge over troubled water,  
I will lay me down   
  
It came as a complete shock to Akane, and broke her out of her funk  
immediately. Nonetheless, surprise held her voiceless for the first  
verse, a warm glow of love rising from her diaphragm to fill her whole  
body. On the second verse, she joined in.  
  
When you're down and out,   
when you're on the street  
When evening falls so hard,  
I will comfort you   
I'm on your side,  
Oh, when darkness comes   
And pain is all around   
Like a bridge over troubled water,   
I will lay me down   
  
Oddly, Ranma found, she was feeling better too. And, to her, it wasn't  
just a song. It was a promise. Though she did not know it, Akane was  
thinking almost the exact same thing. The final verse rolled out  
sweetly, pushing back the night.  
  
Sail on, Silver girl, sail on by   
Your time has come to shine,   
all your dreams are on their way  
See how they shine,   
Oh, when you need a friend   
I'm sailing right behind   
And like a bridge over troubled water,  
I will ease your mind.  
Like a bridge over troubled water,  
I will ease your mind.  
  
Ranma laughed delightedly. "Sorry, Acchan, I was letting the gloom get  
to me too, I think. The problem with this walk is keeping yourself from  
getting depressed."  
  
"Yeah, Ranchan, I was feeling down, too. I think it's the scenery, it's  
too dark. Is there a song we could concentrate on for a while?"   
  
"Mmmm. Sounds like a job for a marching song, really. Do you know 'The  
Whistling Pig'?"  
  
"No, never heard of it. How does it go?"  
  
"Like this:"  
  
Well, we're having a war,   
and we'd like for you to come,  
so the Pig began to whistle,  
and to pound upon the drum,  
We'll give you a gun,  
and we'll furnish you a hat!  
And the Pig began to whistle,  
when they told the Piggies that.   
  
Akane began to whistle too, stepping off in time to the beat, matching  
Ranma's pace. Ranma continued the song, recounting the many adventures  
and misadventures of the Whistling Pig, and Akane came in on the  
choruses, soon finding and holding the melody line.   
  
As she sang, she began to hear flashes of song, prefiguring things  
Ranma put in the verses later, and eventually she began taking the  
occasional verse herself, efforts that Ranma praised as very authentic.   
  
The Pig put on his webbing,  
and he shined his bayonet.  
Some people started shooting,  
so he shot them, with regret,  
He couldn't run an office  
and he couldn't be a clerk,  
cause a Pig that likes to whistle  
likes to whistle while he works.  
  
Oh, we're having a war, ....  
  
As she continued on, walking to the beat with a rhythmic tramp, it  
almost seemed to Akane as though she and Ranma were not alone. It  
almost seemed as though they walked in the center of a great host of  
people, soldiers, who marched or trudged or tramped along, variously  
equipped and conditioned, but undefeated and able, and they, too, were  
singing.  
  
Wars are sometimes over,  
and they garnisheed his pay.  
They took his hat and webbing,  
and they took his gun away.  
They told him they were thankful,  
and they split him north to south,  
and they fried him with a whistle  
and an apple in his mouth.  
  
Oh, we're having a war, ....  
  
The ghostly host began to fade from Akane's sight, until only a last,  
dedicated band remained. Before her, she saw a wide river, crossed by  
no bridge. To the side across the river, she spied the obsidian walls  
of the city of stone.   
  
The ghosts began to stamp their feet at the end of each line, making a  
hollow *boom* like the sounding of a great drum, far away. Akane fell  
silent and the soldiers followed suit, and Ranma raised her voice  
again, in what Akane recognized somehow must be the verse that closed  
the song.  
  
One day there won't be fighting (*boom*)  
and we'll put our guns away. (*boom*)  
Men will love each other, (*boom*)  
and we'll all join hands to pray. (*boom*)  
Peace will come forever, (*boom*)  
people won't get shot and die, (*boom*)  
and on that day, the Pigs will  
spread their wings, _and learn to fly!_  
  
Oh, we're having a war,  
and we'd like for you to come,  
so the Pig began to whistle,  
and to pound upon the drum,  
We'll give you a gun,  
and we'll furnish you a hat!  
And the Pig began to whistle,  
when they told the Piggies that.   
  
They came to the bank of the river, and Akane saw that the river was  
filled with dust. Ranma gave the ghostly soldiers a casual salute,  
which they returned before fading away. Ranma then waded out into the  
river to her knees, and turned back to Akane and held out her hand.   
  
Akane waded into he river likewise, and took it. Ranma set out across,  
holding her hand tightly, and was quickly up to her neck. Akane held  
her breath as her head slipped under the surface of the flowing dust,  
but it did not seem to get into her nose or mouth, or hinder her  
breathing.  
  
She _did_ notice that there were occasional thin streams of water mixed  
in with the dust, and an accidental encounter with one revealed to her  
that they were salty. Though it did not choke her, the dust did stick  
to her skin, and the streams of tears only turned some of it to mud  
where it clung. Emerging from the river on the other side both Ranma  
and Akane were covered by a caking of dust and mud so that they were  
entirely white.   
  
Turning up the worn stone street towards the wall, Akane noticed that  
the dust was falling off with each step, and that the mud was drying up  
and flaking away. By the time they were sixty yards from the river the  
only traces it had left were a few grey smudges on their faces. Akane  
felt very tired, and was engaged in wishing it were over when the bells  
began to sound.  
  
Just as before, the low rumble of stone was picked up and echoed before  
breaking free in heartrending glory. Just as before the stone song was  
enhanced by the music of countless bells. Just as before she was  
overcome by the beauty of the music, and she began to turn back to hear  
it more closely when Ranma grabbed her hand, pulling her along.  
  
They were almost at the wall when a new factor was added. Above the  
glory of the bells, high and clear and impossibly sweet, rose a voice.  
Somehow, Akane recognized it as the voice of the young girl with the  
blue T-shirt she had met in Death's house, and it sang to her and Ranma  
now in verses she heard once before.   
  
Ranma had sung them at the funeral, power and beauty both, and she was  
glad for Ranma's hand, else she should have certainly run back to the  
city to comfort its mournful longing.  
  
A sto'r mo chroi', when you're far away  
From the home that you'll soon be leaving,  
'Tis many the time, by night and by day,  
That your heart will sorely be grieving.  
For the stranger's land it is bright and fair,  
And rich in treasures golden,  
But you'll pine I know for the long, long ago,  
And the love that never is olden.  
  
They reached the wall. As before, it was low and weathered. It could be  
no trouble to get across, even for a cripple. And yet, somehow, Akane  
was reluctant.   
  
Somehow, she knew, the wall was as much a guardian as a barrier.  
Somehow, it would extract a toll. Mutely, she turned back to Ranma in  
an appeal for another way, but Ranma's eyes, gentle but stern, offered  
no compromise. As the song closed a verse, Akane took a deep breath,  
and stepped across. To Ranma's sight, she rippled, and was gone.   
  
A sto'r mo chroi', in the stranger's land,  
There is plenty of wealth for the willing.  
Where jewels adorn the great and the grand,  
While our faces with hunger are paling.  
Yet the road may be toilsome, and hard to tread,  
And the lights of their cities may blind you.  
Then turn a sto'r, to the eastern shore,  
And the ones that you're leaving behind you.  
  
Quietly Ranma stood, looking at the wall herself for a moment of silent  
appraisal, before turning to look back down into the city. Her features  
softened, but then hardened again, and she raised her right hand and  
held it high for a moment.   
  
As the song began its final verse, her hand gave off a flash of white  
light, momentarily throwing the wall and the ground before it into high  
relief. As the flash faded, Ranma turned around, and stepped across.  
  
A sto'r mo chroi', when the evening mists,  
O'er Mountain and Sea are falling,  
Then turn aside from the throng and list'  
And maybe you'll hear me calling.  
For the sound of a voice that I sorely miss,  
For somebody's quick returning,  
Ohh! A ru'n, a ru'n, won't you come back soon,  
To the love that always is burning?  
  
As Ranma crossed the wall, she too vanished. From the city of stone,  
the song grew mournful, and as it finished the chorus of bells also  
ended, and then the silence, and the tears, returned.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Nabiki was no longer weeping. Tears would serve no further purpose, and  
she still had a duty to perform. Ranma had asked of her a service, and  
she had agreed. She did not see that the service held any further  
value, but she would perform it faithfully nonetheless. Precise  
fulfillment of contractual terms reflected on her honor, and Nabiki was  
a stickler for things like that.   
  
Mourning silently, she knelt in formal seiza, watching over the dead  
bodies of her sister and her friend. She would watch for 48 hours, and  
nothing would disturb them for that time.   
  
Let the doctors know what price had been paid, and who had paid it.   
  
48 hours, and then she must take charge of the arrangements. They must  
have another funeral. She quailed internally at the very thought, but  
it fell to her to achieve.   
  
One thing, though, she would at least be spared. She would watch over  
the bodies and therefore, therefore _someone else_ would make the phone  
call. Someone else would have to tell Kasumi and Daddy. It was a form  
of cowardice, she knew, but with all of her soul she was thankful. That  
task, above all others, was one she could not face.  
  
'Oh, Akane!' she mourned,'Why did you go and do something that stupid?'   
  
Though it was a rhetorical question, she knew. Akane had followed her  
friend. No! Say it, Nabiki! Akane had been in love with Ranma, and  
Ranma had been in love with Akane. Akane had followed her lover, and  
had died with her. At least they had died in battle, if she was any  
judge, and she also judged that they had died together. Whatever else,  
she _knew_ they were together now.  
  
She supposed that she ought to be angry at Akane for falling in love  
with someone like Ranma, but she could not be. Her sister had never  
shown a trace of lesbianism before; she _would_ have noticed. And she  
had been so ... so _grey_ before, and _she_ had not been able to help,  
and then Ranma came, and Akane was so happy after.   
  
She could not begrudge that happiness; and if it had cost her sister  
her life, well, no-one had forced her to go beside Ranma. Perhaps she  
had felt the risk of dying beside her beloved was less than that of  
living without her. In a detached way, Nabiki could understand that.  
  
Tracing the lines of their faces with her eyes, and following the new  
scars, Nabiki made a silent pledge. Ranma and Akane had not died  
through mischance. Someone had taken her sister and her friend from  
her. She did not know who, but she would. And then Someone was going to  
pay. Pay dearly, and pay interest.   
  
Tendo Nabiki became emotional over few things, but _no-one_ injured her  
family and walked away undamaged. It was a matter of honor, it was a  
matter of pride, and it was especially a matter of being very, _very_  
angry.  
  
Dr. Tofu straightened from his ministrations and sighed in relief.   
  
Already she was recovering. Recovering at a very great rate, too. She  
would, he felt, be recovered sufficiently to leave the hospital in a  
day or three. Turning to her father, he relayed this news, softening  
the man's profuse thanks embarrassedly.   
  
It was not his victory, but two others', and he turned to check on  
them. Even from across the room, he knew, and his heart froze within  
him. Still, he moved over to be certain.  
  
Nabiki felt the presence of Dr. Tofu behind her.   
  
"48 hours."   
  
There was little humanity in her voice, only a vast and implacable  
purpose.   
  
He began to say something, but then reconsidered. "48 hours," he  
agreed. "Would you like me to call your house?"  
  
Nabiki turned a grateful face toward him, and smiled weakly. "Thank  
you, Tofu-sensei. I ...."  
  
In a city made of stone, a chorus of bells fell silent, though neither  
Nabiki or Tofu could hear them. In her circle, Akane gasped in air and  
arched her back, falling to her side and writhing out of the circle,  
keening in agony. They whirled back around and gaped at the sight of  
Ranma, head back and body locked, mouth gaping open in a long, silent  
scream.  
  
Akane inadvertently recalled their attention with a strangled whimper.  
Nabiki lunged to her sister's side, but Ranma got there first anyway.  
Cradling Akane's head in her arms, Ranma held her upright. Akane  
gasped, "Hurts, Ranchan."  
  
"Shh, Acchan, I know. It'll get better soon."  
  
Nabiki took a towelette from Dr. Tofu and used it to clean off the  
wounds on Akane's cheek, dreading what she knew she must see when Akane  
opened her eyes.   
  
Akane, feeling the gentle motion, gathered her energy and looked to see  
who was cleaning her, blurrily she saw ... "N-neechan? That you?  
Ranchan?" Seeing Nabiki's stunned stare, she continued, "Neechan? Is it  
... my eye? I know it must look awful ...."  
  
"Oh, I don't know," Ranma smiled slowly, "_I_ think it makes you look  
... rakish, really." Akane frowned at her, vaguely, and Ranma pulled  
out a mirror and held it before her face.   
  
Akane frowned at it; it wouldn't come into focus. It was all blurry,  
but it was odd. It seemed as though it was blurry in _both_ eyes, which  
made no sense at all.   
  
Then it did focus, and she gasped. There was her right eye, large and  
dark brown like it had always been. But where there should have been a  
mate to its left, or else a bloody ruin, was instead a deep black well,  
shot through with swirling flecks of red and gold. Akane tried to deal  
with the concept, but quickly gave up the idea as much too complicated.  
She was more tired and bore more minor injuries than she had ever had  
in her life, and all she wanted to do was go home.   
  
Ranma wobbled unsteadily to her feet and pulled Akane up after her.  
After checking with Dr. Tofu that Sayuri was all right, she got Akane  
moving and headed out the door to the Dojo, leaving Nabiki to deal with  
anything that came up.   
  
Nabiki, unwilling to be put off lunged after them and held them up,  
saying, "Hold on, you two. You don't leave until you tell me what the  
_hell_ just happened!"  
  
Ranma and Akane looked at each other for a moment, then turned back to  
Nabiki. "Nothing special, Oneechan." "No big deal, really." In unison,  
"Just routine." Chucking tiredly, they staggered out, brushing past Dr.  
Tofu, who made a move to stop them, but then shrugged, and let them go.   
  
Nabiki looked after the departing duo exasperatedly. Then she slowly  
smiled. Internally, she cancelled her pledge of vengeance and made a  
note to buy a great deal of incense and prayer candles. She didn't know  
just which god she now owed a debt to, but she should probably do some  
scatter-shot sacrificing anyway; it was a small price to pay for a  
miracle.   
  
Mentally, she made a list.   
  
First, she had to see about a few temples.   
  
Then she was going to go home and check that Akane was really all  
right.   
  
Then she was going to tear a long, bleeding strip off her for scaring  
her like that.   
  
Whistling in relief, she headed out the door herself.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Somehow, she had kept awake long enough to get home. Staggering in the  
door of her room, she took off her jacket and hung it up. Then her legs  
failed her, and she just managed to sit down on the bed. Ranchan wanted  
her to do something, and she nodded vaguely, and she was _so_ tired,  
she'd do it in a minute, she'd get right up and ... and she'd ... she'd  
get up from where she was laying down and she'd ....  
  
A small snore came from Akane where she lay on her side on her bed,  
fast asleep. Ranma frowned and came over to the bed, shaking her  
shoulder lightly. This accomplished nothing, and Ranma sat down heavily  
to try to think what to do. Absently, she stroked Akane's hair gently.  
She would leave Acchan to her sleep, she decided, and go back to her  
apartment. She'd get right up and do it now. Yup. She'd get ... right  
... up ... and ....  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Nabiki arrived home with a mission. She was going to kill her little  
sister on grounds of familial imperilment (viz: risking her, Nabiki's  
neck when she would have had to explain things to Dad).   
  
Skipping up the steps she listened at Akane's door, but heard nothing.  
Quietly, she opened the door to confirm that Akane was not present, and  
gaped at the sight within.   
  
On the bed lay Akane and Ranma, arms and legs intertwined, Akane's face  
pressed into Ranma's shoulder, raven hair entwining with sunset  
scarlet, deeply asleep.  
  
Nabiki smiled wistfully, and quietly closed the door.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Next:  
Ranma and Akane: A Love Story  
Chapter 6: Immediate Consequences  
Part A: The Night Before The Morning After  
  
Authors Notes:  
  
Tear-jerking bastich, ain't I?  
  
Heh.  
  
No, it gets to me, too, and I _wrote_ the thing.  
  
You may notice that I spend a lot more time on describing Akane's fight  
and what maneuvers she is using, while letting Ranma by with visual  
descriptions and a higher level of vagueness. This is entirely  
intentional.  
  
You may also notice that I tend to choose Ranma's actions by their  
visual appeal, silly as that may seem in a text based fanfiction.  
Again, this is intentional.   
  
A lot of the whole fic is visually based, because I seem to have the  
habit of formatting and developing the scenes that way. Also, Ranma is  
serving as a plot-device and story-forwarder at this point, so I felt  
that visual imagery was more appropriate.  
  
Yes, Ranma does have a death wish. It's not a terribly strong one,  
mind. And he himself would deny it vehemenently, but it _is_ there.  
Again, this is a side-effect of Ranma no longer being truly heroic, and  
will probably fix itself as he regains his proper form.  
  
Or, again, I could just be playing with your minds. You never know.  
  
But, whatever Ranma may _think_, he has been strongly marked by the  
Samurai / Ronin death fetish (if that's what I want to call it). The  
sense that a 'heroic' death for duty or honor's sake is desirable or  
romantic. As I say, if you asked him, she'd deny it, but ....  
  
Moving on, I consider the Hiryuu Shoten Ha to be the most visually  
distinctive and impressive of Ranma's attacks, which is why I use it  
here.  
  
I've wanted to use "krakata-thoooooo......oooom" as a sound effect for  
a long time now, and I refuse to apologize for it.  
  
Yes that _is_ the First of the Fallen as in Satan, Old Scratch,  
Lucifer, the Adversary, etc. Yes, he's extremely bad-ass.  
  
For more on Invincibles, see the RAALS Essays on the web site.  
  
For that matter, world and meta-world information in general is there,  
and there's a lot to reference in this chapter.  
  
The fall into the dark was pure stylistic showoff on my part, but I'm  
not apologizing for _it_, either.  
  
The Starless Sea is an escape route because it's the one place in all  
creation where Lies are Not Allowed, and where the First _cannot_  
therefore suddenly turn up. Or _any_ demon, for that matter. On the  
other hand, it's usually very much a one-way trip. Nor can most people  
climb the Cliff of Black Stone, even if they could _find_ it, which  
they couldn't.  
  
The pool of water at the base of the cliff is a very Important Well.  
The root that feeds into it is a very Important Root. And a nasty  
computer pun. I'm not saying any more right now.  
  
Ranma and Akane would not normally be able to throw their weight around  
to that extent; but due to their twin-world existence during the fight,  
they are in much the same position as a demon would be confronting  
humans on earth. That is, they're cheating extensively.  
  
This also explains the rapid healing of their wounds during the fight,  
and also at least partly what happened to Akane's eye. _That_ wound is  
also very symbolic, if you hadn't already guessed that.  
  
The sword will be dealt with in the next chapter.  
  
The Iron-Men pseudo-history is complete garbage, in case that wasn't  
obvious, but I think it's evocative garbage. It's also _All Mine_, but  
I'm willing to share ...  
  
Just for the record, major world influences to this point include:  
Slayers  
Godzilla  
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (manga version)  
Gunsmith Cats  
Usagi Yojimbo  
Neil Gaiman  
Terry Pratchett  
Ah! Megamisama  
Iczer One  
El Hazzard  
Tenchi Muyo  
Hellblazer!  
In Nomine  
Ninja High School  
Gold Digger  
Gunmm (aka Battle Angel Alita)  
and my own deranged imagination.  
Oh, and Ranma, too.  
  
'Til Then,  
  
Eric Hallstrom 01/16/2001 


	6. Immediate Consequences

Disclaimer: The playground is by Rumiko Takahashi, I'm only swinging on  
the monkey bars. Remember to leave the grounds cleaner than you found  
them and please don't feed the Trolls.  
  
"Summer Lightning" and "Thanksgiving Eve" are copyrighted by Garnet  
Rogers; if you haven't encountered him before go out and buy his CDs,  
he sings lots better than I write.  
  
"The Haughs of Cromdale" is a Traditional song from Scotland. My  
version is off an album by the Corries.   
  
Isileth and Aldric Talvalin, and everything to do with them belong to  
Peter Morwood. They come from his series, the Books of Days (The Horse  
Lord, The Dragon Lord, The Demon Lord, and The Warlord's Domain.); now,  
sadly, no longer in print.  
  
Gally, Hugo, Ido and Co. are characters from the manga/anime series  
"Hyper Future Vision Gunmm", which belongs to Yukito Kishiro.  
  
This story is archived at http://www.kawaiikunee.com/slp/  
  
Release 1.1 (Dec. 07, 2000)  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma and Akane: A Love Story  
Chapter 6: Immediate Consequences  
Part A: The Night Before the Morning After  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
There are certain ways that things are supposed to go.   
  
Take, for instance, the case of waking up in someone else's bed. This  
is _supposed_ to involve long drowsy dalliances and breakfast in situ,  
served by dedicated servants. Or, on the other hand, romantic melodrama  
may easily be obtained by hasty dressing and tearful, secretive  
goodbyes.   
  
Unless, of course, the other whose bed you are waking up in is an Other  
whom no-one, including the other, may be allowed to suspect _is_ the  
Other; in which case things are supposed to occur so as to maximize  
embarrassment for all involved.   
  
(Yes, that _was_ a complex sentence. Read it through a couple times, it  
means what it says.)   
  
Fortunately for Ranma, the sensation of Akane breathing into her ear  
woke her alone and unobserved.   
  
This precipitated what should have been the type of convulsive jerk  
that knocks over the bed, wakes the bed-mate, calls the attention of  
the house, and otherwise results in complete higgelty-piggelty.   
  
Alas for the devotees of the Right and Proper Order of Things, however,  
Ranma's well-honed reflexes and hard-wired skills were in full working  
order; and she removed herself from complete (if, sadly, clothed)  
entanglement in Akane's embrace to a position standing upright in the  
middle of the room without much more than a mild heart attack.   
  
This should not, however, be construed as meaning that the forces of  
Dramatic Righteousness were entirely cheated of their due.   
  
The human body is a complex collection of muscles, bone, nerves,  
joints, ligaments, and other such items. Ranma's collection chose that  
moment to send her a wide array of bitterly-complaining messages,  
relaying their utter dissatisfaction with their current conditions and  
accusing her of criminal incompetence at the top. She also noted the  
pounding pain of a massive migraine headache, foretelling an impressive  
hangover; caused, she knew, by metabolic by-products and ki imbalances  
attendant upon the rather ... unique ... stresses to which she and  
Akane had been subjected earlier that day.  
  
Action was clearly called for, and she exerted her trained will and  
knowledge of Magic and martial lore, pushing back the pain and  
stiffness and adjusting a wide range of inner balances. Attempted to  
move. And whimpered, very faintly.  
  
Then she consulted a hard-won store of homeopathic medical lore and  
immediately prescribed herself a long soak in a hot bath and some  
serious reconstructive meditation.   
  
Which would require walking all the way out the hall and down the  
stairs, not to mention _another_ hall at the bottom of the stairs.  
Truly it is said that the life of a Martial Artist is fraught with  
peril.   
  
It would be a good idea to wake Akane, however. Particularly since,  
unless she was seriously mistaken, Akane's lingering effects of the  
day's adventures would be even more extreme than her own.   
  
Ranma felt a renewed pang of grief shoot through her as she took in  
Akane's profile, following the new lines of scars that spread out in a  
web around her left eye, easily visible as she lay on her right side.   
  
She forced herself to lock the sensation deeply inside; even if  
revealing the extent of her sorrow were not far too dangerous to the  
careful masquerade she must now live, it was horribly disrespectful to  
Akane. She had, after all, followed along of her own free will, and  
must be regarded as a warrior capable of knowing her own honor and what  
it demanded.   
  
Honorable action required what it required, and cost what it cost. Had  
she, herself, not born up under wounds as great? To rail against the  
necessary costs of one's actions was to cheapen them; and to cheapen  
Akane was a thing which she could never do.  
  
In the end Akane's slumber proved more than a match for Ranma's  
somewhat lessened resources, and Ranma finally decided simply to let  
her sleep. Summoning her ferocious will and inexhaustible endurance,  
she strode out the door and down the stairs towards the furo and a  
long, hot soak with all the grace and power of an octogenarian  
tortoise.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The furo, generally speaking, was an institution and object of which  
Tendo Nabiki thoroughly approved. It was not merely sanitary and  
relaxing, she felt, but good for the mind and will as well.   
  
A long soak relaxed the body, which gave the mind time and space in  
which to think unhindered. Most of all, it provided a protected space.  
It was so often necessary to impose control on one's self, on one's  
expressions and actions. Any opportunity to create a time or space in  
which that control could be relaxed, however briefly, was to be  
treasured.  
  
Moreover, it was an easily secured space as well, especially a private  
furo, like the one in the Tendo bath. Even a public furo was far more  
private than it would appear at first glance, since custom imposed a  
veil of indifference over the lack of physical privacy that actually  
provided far more actual privacy than most would believe. As long as  
one was discreet, at least.   
  
But a _private_ furo .... Not only did it share in the custom-imposed  
privacy of the public furo, but it had _physical_ privacy, too.   
  
Also, if one suspected that one's privacy had been imposed on, one  
could take any actions necessary to regain it, _without_ alerting  
anyone to the presence of something out of the ordinary to be protected  
in the first place.  
  
All in all, Nabiki was very fond of finding a good furo and settling in  
for a long soak whenever she was feeling out of sorts. That afternoon  
she soaked for as long as she could stand. She was thinking. Thinking  
as hard and strategically as she had in a long time.  
  
It could be managed, she felt. Mind, her sister was still an idiot. But  
it _could_ be managed. There was no real hope that the news would not  
get out, but if she managed the grapevine just so .... She supposed  
that was 'spin', or whatever the set of idiots currently running the  
Western Media were calling it at the moment.  
  
But any Japanese (really, any truly _civilized_ person, she reflected)  
knew instinctively that it was the consensus of community opinion that  
mattered. All she had to do was swing that consensus a little, a task  
in which she should have a considerable advantage; _this_ consensus,  
after all, directly affected Ranma.   
  
Not only had she, herself, _demonstrated_ an advanced grasp of public  
consensus management; but even more, a denigratory consensus might well  
cause her to become ... annoyed. Since she strongly suspected that no  
sane person at Furinkan would actually wish to see that happen ....   
  
So, all she _should_ have to do was drop a few subtle hints. And make  
sure that no random _in_-sane person upset the boat. Not difficult, if  
she was any judge, as long as she kept things vague enough that people  
could agree without having to confront what they were agreeing with  
directly.   
  
The last thing she thought before relaxing fully into the lassitude  
brought by the delicious warmth of the water was that she was glad that  
she lived in a society where allusion made arranging things like that  
no more difficult than necessary. She didn't really feel up to doing  
anything difficult right now anyway.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
After finishing her bath, she was inclined to talk over a few things  
with Kasumi, just to make sure that they were both on the same page as  
regards her dear little sister's idiocy and its probable cause. A small  
disturbance alerted her to an approaching spectacle however, and she  
silently took refuge in the Tendo Family room to await it.  
  
The spectacle in question did not disappoint. Ranma, jacket-less, de-  
scarfed and carrying her shirt in her hand, limped vaguely down the  
hallway, around the corner and into the furo.   
  
Nabiki forbade herself to make any noise. She had heard from her rumor  
sources that Ranma was scarred beneath her usual enveloping clothes,  
but she had not expected ... and _some_ of those scars were not old,  
fine, white lines but rather angry, red welts.  
  
Nabiki felt her eyes fill, briefly, with tears. She would have to  
remember this sight, she thought, whenever she doubted her sister's  
lover. Ranma might be overly heroic and possessed of something  
resembling a death-wish, but there could be no doubt that she knew the  
cost of the actions she took. Which was very much for the better,  
actually; if someone _had_ to act like a Samurai, it was much easier to  
respect them knowing that they always kept one eye on the cost.  
  
Shaking her head she turned from the closing door and went to talk to  
Kasumi.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
She woke up.   
  
This, she decided, was her first mistake.   
  
She was not immediately sure what had awakened her, but she _was_  
immediately sure that she wished it hadn't bothered.   
  
Her hair hurt.   
  
That was not even considering the mad kamikaze air molecules that were  
attempting to flay her skin off.   
  
Now that she whimpered it, how _had_ those tribes of mad, jack-hammer  
wielding dwarves gotten inside her skull, anyway? And what had she done  
to piss them off so badly?   
  
Couldn't they have written her a ... a letter or something?   
  
She'd have apologized, really.  
  
Also, she really had to talk to someone about putting dead rats in her  
mouth. It just wasn't civilized, and whoever had done it ought to have  
known better.   
  
She tried to summon up a sense of righteous outrage, but all she could  
manage was a dull throb, and it immediately got lost in all the other  
aches and pains.  
  
Attempting to discern where, exactly, she was, she opened her eyes.   
  
Mistake number two, instantly taken advantage of by the roving hordes  
of nomadic biker photons, which used the opening in her defenses to  
invade down her optic nerves in a howling wave and set her brain on  
fire.   
  
Attempting to quench the flames, she curled into a foetal ball and  
threw her arms around her head.   
  
Mistake number three.   
  
It was really fascinating, she thought distantly, that a sufficient  
amount of suffering could not only _induce_ unconsciousness, but could  
then immediately _negate_ it.   
  
Well, she had obviously screwed up _somewhere_, big-time. Now the  
question was: where was Ranchan when you really needed her?   
  
Ranma. Didn't she have a vague memory of Ranma saying something?   
  
Something ... about ... about ... getting up? ... and going ... to the  
furo. Or she'd stiffen up....   
  
Ah.... So that was it.   
  
Well, she could see that the rest of the day promised to be unpleasant.   
  
Yep.   
  
But she had a plan to outwit it.   
  
Just as soon as she took her bath and got a little control back, she  
was going to die.   
  
Yep.   
  
That'd show it.   
  
You bet.   
  
Now all she had to do was get to the furo.   
  
Which involved ... taking off her clothes ... and going ... all the way  
... down the stairs. Oh dear.   
  
Shortly, a shambling figure tackled the complex challenge of walking  
down a flight of stairs without toppling over. Its progress was not  
eased by an apparent difficulty with the dim hallway light, which was  
causing it to move in a series of flinches.   
  
Exerting supreme self-control, it avoided a lunging attempt to descend  
the stairs in a single moment, outracing light itself. Which was a good  
thing, really, because the photons hanging around were sufficiently  
annoyed as it was, and the figure was in enough trouble.   
  
Stumbling down the last stair risers and shuffling painfully around two  
corners and down the hall, the figure had nearly attained its hoped-for  
sanctuary when fate cruelly intervened.   
  
A firm, decisive footstep was heard, and Tendo Soun entered the hallway  
from the garden outside and came face-to-face with his daughter.   
  
And, for a brief moment, nothing happened.   
  
Then Akane feebly attempted to placate the looming disaster by waving  
her hands at her father, and whimpering. Alas, in vain; slowly started  
but rapidly rising came the ultimate horror (at least to anyone with a  
killing hangover), a full, all-out, Tendo Soun Wail.   
  
(#2516: My daughter went to Hell and lost her eye, now she'll   
never get a husband and I'll be alone in my old age, aiiee!)   
  
The noise went through Akane's already shot nerves like a buzzsaw and  
she collapsed to the floor in a foetal ball. Naked and dripping from  
the tub, Ranma was at her side two seconds later. Kneeling at Akane's  
side, Ranma gently coaxed her out of her curled up misery; in the  
process leveling a glare at Soun that sent him backwards in a dead  
faint.  
  
Nabiki, drawn by the *thud* of Akane impacting the floor, managed a  
gasp before Ranma cut her off. "Nabiki-san, please ask Kasumi-san to  
get Acchan a glass of whichever hangover cure she usually makes for  
your father." Smoothly, Ranma picked Akane up and took her into the  
furo. Nabiki gaped briefly at the closing door before running back to  
fetch Kasumi.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Timidly, Kasumi knocked on the door to the bath. "Ranma-san, may I come  
in?"  
  
"Please do."  
  
Kasumi carried the large glass into the furo, and, like her sister,  
restrained a gasp. It was bad enough to see such extensive scars on  
Ranma-san, reminding her of the cost demanded of those who walk  
Bushido, but to see such scars in turn on the smooth flesh of her  
younger sister; that was almost more than she could stand.   
  
Akane was huddled against the edge of the tub, with her face turned  
down and her eyes shut as Ranma gently probed her acupuncture and  
shiatsu spots from behind. At Kasumi's approach, Ranma leaned back in  
the tub, and Akane turned around, looking up at Kasumi in thankfulness  
and reaching out for the glass she was carrying.  
  
Seeing the new web of faint scars around her sister's eye and the  
changed nature of the orb itself caused Kasumi to fall to her knees,  
extending the glass with shaking hand. Akane almost snatched the glass  
away from her, and drained it with a single, long pull before putting  
it to the side and coming up partially out of the tub to gather Kasumi  
into her arms and hug her fiercely.  
  
"Kasumi! Kasumi-oneechan, it's all right. It _looks_ awful but the eye  
still works just fine."  
  
Ranma raised an eyebrow and dryly said, "I say again, it looks  
_rakish_. Not awful, _rakish_."  
  
Kasumi made a mighty effort and came back on balance. "I don't want to  
contradict you, Ranma-san, but I'm afraid it does look awful. Just a  
little."  
  
Akane released her hug and turned back toward Ranma, sticking out her  
tongue, "See? I _told_ you so!"  
  
Ranma settled back in the tub and spread her arms along the rim,  
"Acchan, look this way. Now raise your left eyebrow. No, a little  
higher. Yeah, like that. Now show Kasumi-san." A short pause. "See?  
Rakish."  
  
Akane sighed and stood up, saying, "Please excuse me, 'Neechan, I have  
to kill -" as she reached her full height she paused, her eyes going  
wide in shock as an alarming cracking sound made itself known. "... er,  
that is. I have to get right back in the tub here and have Ranchan do  
some more shiatsu on me. Yeah, that's it."  
  
Ranma sighed, "Doesn't listen. Over-exerts. Rushes in where angels fear  
to tread. Domineering. And now she wants shiatsu, too. Oh dear. What a  
pity. Never mind." Winking at Kasumi's mildly alarmed look, Ranma slid  
forward in the tub to kneel behind Akane.  
  
Akane looked up, alarmed, "Ranchan! I need ... ooooh!" As Ranma's hand  
reached the first shiatsu spot, Akane's eyes slitted in relief, the  
left flashing a solid gold.  
  
Kasumi smiled slightly and silently slipped out.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Ranma-san! I will not permit you to run off without dinner. It is  
getting late and you _must_ be tired, you should eat with us and sleep  
in the guest room tonight."  
  
Ranma blinked, backing away from Kasumi and frantically waving her  
hands, "Ahhh ... of course, Kasumi-san, whatever you say. I'll just go  
into the Dojo and, ahh, maintain my equipment, yes?" Grabbing a  
confused and yukata-clad Akane by the shoulder, Ranma hastily retreated  
from the main house to the Dojo.  
  
"Geeze! Your sister is _scary_ when she's like that!" Ranma peeked  
cautiously around the edge of the Dojo door. "Anyway, I'm serious,  
Acchan, you need to go get your stuff and get it back in order right  
now, before you forget and then don't have it next time."  
  
Akane nodded muzzily and wandered out of the Dojo and back upstairs.  
Ranma busied herself with seeing to the good condition of her weapons,  
but was interrupted when Akane timidly reappeared, holding a sword in  
an ill-fitting scabbard away from her body with obvious reluctance.   
  
"Ranchan?"  
  
Ranma looked up and raised an eyebrow.   
  
"This," Akane continued, "is _not_ my sword. And I don't have _any_ of  
the other stuff and I've never seen this sword before ... I don't even  
know what _kind_ of sword it is ...."  
  
Ranma stood up and gingerly took the sword away, laying it flat on the  
portable table she was using to hold her cleaning gear. "Taiken. It's a  
taiken."   
  
She withdrew the sword from its scabbard and turned it over and around  
in her hands. It was slightly longer than a katana, straight bladed and  
double-edged, but still chisel-pointed. It was made of a dull, gray  
steel, better polished in the middle of the blade, which sank into a  
blood-groove accented by the yakiba-mon, the wavy pattern that  
indicates the different steel composition used in the edge of a blade.   
  
It was elaborately hilted in black, non-reflective steel, a two-handed,  
wire-wrapped grip rising from a heavy thorn pommel to a wide crossbar  
that flared out into hilt-loops to protect its wielder's fingers as  
they might be looped over the hilt. The side-bars of the hilt flared  
out into an almost-basket that provided a fair amount of protection to  
the upper hand of a wielder, and even a casual inspection woke  
amazement at the magnificent balance and liveliness of the cold, gray  
steel. "It's a _good_ taiken."  
  
Ranma withdrew a small tool from jacket-space and placed the blade on  
the table, beginning to disassemble its hilt. "These are usually  
tang-marked ... like ... so ...." her voice faded off into a long  
whistle.   
  
Akane drew closer and leaned forward to see, but could not read the  
strange, curling letters. Ranma held the blade up to the light and read  
something off the tang in a language that Akane likewise did not know.   
  
Indicating this with a slant of her eyebrow, Akane caused Ranma to  
flush briefly and then translate aloud into Japanese, "'Forged was I,  
of iron heaven born. Ulean made me. I am Isileth.'"  
  
"How, ah... how did you manage to pick this up, anyway, Acchan? I saw  
you waving it around when you, ah, came to get me, but ..." Ranma  
slowly and coolly put the hilt back together.  
  
Akane stammered something inane about how she had needed a sword and it  
had just been lying there and she'd just put her hand on it, and....  
  
Ranma shook her head sadly. "Outnumbered. Injured. Back to the wall.  
And you 'just happen' to put your hand onto Isileth Widow-maker. Give  
it up, girl. You are _so_ doomed." Then, suddenly, she grinned, "But at  
least being around you won't be _boring_. I hate _boring_," she winked.   
  
Akane grinned weakly and blushed. Then she indicated the sword still  
lying on the table. "Ummm ... you seem to know it ... her? What's the  
story?"  
  
"Well ... about a dozen or so universes _that_ way there is a land  
called Alba, which has a number of similarities to Tokugawa era Japan.  
For samurai say 'kailin-eir', for katana say 'taiken'.   
  
"I had heard a rumor that the kailin in Alba practiced an Art called  
Taiken-ulleth, which involved a form of 'perfect swordsmanship', and  
that there was one living master left.   
  
"So about a year or so back I used the amulet to go look, but I never  
found him, or her, whichever. But, while I was there, I did pick up a  
fair bit of kailinin lore, one bit of which was the story of the 'most  
perfect sword', Isileth.  
  
"Supposedly made from 'star-metal' from a fallen meteorite. Said in  
legend to have been refolded three hundred times, quenched in blood and  
polished by fire and water. Rumored to be too tough to bend, too strong  
to break and with an edge that was sharpened once and hasn't dulled  
since. Claimed to have been used by heroes and villains for two  
thousand years or more."   
  
Ranma took a piece of rice-paper and traced out the outline of  
Isileth's blade, and then took up the ill-fitting scabbard and began  
preparations to modify it to properly receive its new resident. "What  
she was doing on a slope just outside of Hell I've no idea. Here," she  
handed the sword-hilt to Akane, "do a kata or two and get to know her.  
Perhaps she'll tell you." Akane took the sword silently and stood,  
momentarily at a loss.   
  
After a minute or so she shook her head dazedly and turned back to the  
center of the Dojo, moving with a slight wince for abused muscles and  
joints and focusing inward, preparing a pain-blocking mantra to aid her  
concentration. Then she pressed the sword's blade to her forehead in  
salute and sank into the slight trance she used to invoke Other-sight.   
  
Instead of focusing it on anything, she deliberately _de_-focused it  
and began a basic sword kata, extending a welcome to any insights the  
blade might offer.   
  
From behind her as she danced her kata she heard Ranma begin to sing  
lowly and distractedly as she worked on the scabbard. And as the song  
continued, low and dark and couched in some dialect of English that she  
could barely even determine _was_ English, her de-focused Sight began  
to gather sounds and images. Images of blood.  
  
As I came in by Auchindoun,   
a little wee bit frae the toun,  
When to the Highlan's I was bound,  
to view the haughs of Cromdale.  
  
Right hand highest on the hilt (a voice whispered, "One hand only girl,  
until you apply force to the cut, keep your other hand free. And put a  
finger over the hilt, it increases control, and the hilt-loops will  
guard it."), arm rising for jodan-no-kame morote uchi kiri otashi  
kudashi, the most basic of strikes, the two-handed vertical downward  
blow to cleave head and chest together ("The pearsplitter ..." the  
voice whispered).   
  
I met a man in tartan trews,  
I speir'd at him what was the news;  
Quo' he the Highlan' army rues,  
that e'er we came to Cromdale.   
  
And her mind sank into a receptive blankness and she stopped the cut at  
the level of the lower chest and transmuted its force into a bouncing  
return to guard, left hand dropping away and right hand blurring in  
withdrawal to hasso hidari gamae, left foot leading as she cocked the  
sword by the side of her head in preparation for ...  
  
We were in bed, sir, every man,  
when the English host upon us came,  
A bloody battle then began  
upon the haughs of Cromdale.  
  
... for jodan-no-yoho giri kudashi, the high horizontal cut, right to  
left as the body uncoils and the left hand comes around to grip the  
hilt and put the whole force of that uncoiling behind the decapitation  
stroke ("... to the cross, inverted ..." the whisper said), and ...  
  
The English horse they were so rude,  
they bath'd their hooves in Highlan' blood,  
But our brave clans, they boldly stood  
upon the haughs of Cromdale.  
  
... and the left hand let go again as the body whirled around into  
right-advance guard and the right sank the blade into chudan-no-kame,  
middle guard, and the blade sank into darkness until only a gleaming  
trace of blue-silver fire marked its edge and her body faded away and  
...  
  
But, alas! We could no longer stay,  
and o'er the hills we came away,  
And sore we do lament the day,  
that e'er we came to Cromdale.  
  
... and the blade angled left and thrust up and forward and her left  
hand flickered out to propel the body of the blade in a thrusting cut  
to the back and side of the neck of the dark, faceless figure that  
attacked from that side and, still faceless, faded as it fell and left  
only the great spray of blood from its severed carotid and jugular,  
bright red and wet as it fanned out from the massive slash and her left  
hand fell away again and ...  
  
  
Then the great Montrose did say,  
Highlan' men show me the way,  
For I will o'er the hills this day,  
to view the haughs of Cromdale.   
  
... and her right hand brought the blade down a foot and began the  
mirror-image thrust-and-slash to the right and her left hand floated up  
(so fast) and she thrust right and past the target and her body twisted  
back as her left hand pushed forward and her right drew back and ...  
  
They were at dinner, every man,  
when great Montrose upon them came,  
A second battle then began,  
upon the haughs of Cromdale.  
  
... and the back edge of the blade cut through the target's throat in  
the strike Ranma had taught her earlier in the week ('This move was  
designed for a two-edged blade,' she thought) and the fan of blood  
arced out wide and scarlet as she completed soukongou (and the whisper  
said, "... twin-thunderbolts ...") and the blood-sprays blew past and  
behind her view and the fallen bodies faded like mist beneath the hot  
sun and ...  
  
The Grant, Mackenzie and MacKay,  
soon as Montrose they did espy,  
O then, they fought most valiantly!  
upon the haughs of Cromdale.   
  
... and she faced an opponent across ten feet of open ground and the  
circle of watchers were tense as the Marshall dropped the wand to begin  
the duel and she advanced chudan and feinted outside and knocked his  
sword off-line *scrape* along the top of the opponent's blade, shock of  
heavy resistance as she cut through the neck and ...  
  
The MacDonalds they returned again,  
the Camerons did their standard join,  
MacIntosh play'd a bloody game,  
upon the haughs of Cromdale.  
  
... and her horse kicked into a gallop as she put up the great bow and  
the sword was in her hand and she extended it forward, wrist cocked as  
the point turned a little down, making a small lance as they galloped  
toward the enemy in his array and a heavy, wet shock ran up her arm as  
the blade went home and she galloped across the field cutting down her  
foes and ...  
  
The MacGregors fought like lions bold,  
MacPhersons, none could them control,  
MacLaughlins fought, like loyal souls,  
upon the haughs of Cromdale.   
  
... and they faded into mist, gray and fading except for the bright  
scarlet of the spouting, running, dripping blood and the blood sprayed  
back and forth but none of it clung to her or to the blade but it  
seemed to bounce off a figure hanging in front of her in the heavy air  
and she ran through the dark stone halls striking target (only targets,  
gray, fading and gone) left and right and the flowing blood outlined  
and then filled in another opponent ...  
  
MacLeans, MacDougals, and MacNeils,  
so boldly as they took the field,  
And made their enemies to yield,  
upon the haughs of Cromdale.  
  
... another opponent; tall and massive, armored in an alien style in  
full plate-and-chain, like and yet unlike a samurai in its blood-red  
armor and taiken like her own and she fought with it back and forth  
across a hearth a field a forest clearing and she brought the blade  
around kasumi kiri age, arms crossed, right hand sliding out low to  
join the left hand and come up hard and diagonally to the left across  
the body, and her opponent opened out along the line of the cut and  
there was nothing inside but blood and ...  
  
The Gordons boldly did advance,  
the Frasers fought with sword and lance,  
The Grahams they made the heads to dance,  
upon the haughs of Cromdale.   
  
... and it sprayed out and covered her but there was no smell of blood,  
no remembered salt-iron tang but only a stale, sweet, sad hint of roses  
and the blood hanging in the air turned black and fell like rain, and  
she met and destroyed another gray warrior and another and another but  
their blood did not spout bright wet scarlet but black and heavy and it  
fell back upon them and they twisted and where a man had stood a black  
rose now hung in midair and the air was full, overpowered by the smell  
and something small and bright and blue fell out of the sky and the gem  
hung before her, glowing and ...  
  
The loyal Stewarts with Montrose,  
so boldly set upon their foes,  
And brought them down with Highland blows,  
upon the haughs of Cromdale.  
  
... and she swung the sword kiri otashi kudashi again and it flared  
with blue fire so intense that it blinded her and the rose was burned  
away and where the jewel had been crouched a figure twisted and huddled  
over, almost invisible except for the crippled, twisted claw that was  
its right hand and her hands went back for the stroke but then she  
brought the blade down and grasped it with both hands and _snapped_ it  
and her hands hurt and bled and her stomache hurt and bled and her  
chest hurt and bled and it was whole again and the twisted figure faded  
and she stepped past it and the blade flared brighter and higher and  
she attacked the alien, horrible form that rose above her, slobbering,  
and she cut it across and it divided in half and fell away and she  
dropped the blade, casting it aside and the dust covered it and her eye  
flared with pain and she fell and twisted as she rolled in the dust and  
she grasped the hilt and came upright and ...   
  
Of twenty thousand Cromwell's men,  
five hundred fled to Aberdeen  
The rest of them lie on the plain,  
upon the haughs of Cromdale.  
  
... and settled into perfect chudan-no-kame as the kata ended and she  
saluted the Dojo and flicked the sword around. And she turned back to  
Ranma where she knelt near the Dojo wall and asked, "Does the name  
Talvalin mean anything to you?"  
  
"Not a thing," Ranma said cheerfully and handed her the remade scabbard  
and she sheathed the sword.  
  
And from the main house Kasumi called, "Ranma-san, Akane-chan, dinner!"   
  
And they went in to see.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Akane's room was dark and still in night's embrace. Akane, however, was  
not.   
  
Shadowy dreams of loss and pain lurked just beyond the border of the  
waking world, and a pit of darkness vast enough to suck her down  
forever awaited her least little lowering of defense. This she knew.   
  
What she did not know was how to fight the encroaching dark. If she  
could only find a target, something to hit with her fist or her sword.  
If it were only an external threat that she could face head on. If it  
were only an obvious weakness, something even in herself, but something  
she could come to grips with.   
  
But what could she do with dreams in the dark?   
  
Lost in her silent, failing struggle, she did not hear the quiet  
opening of the door, nor did she note the form that ghosted across her  
room until it actually sat upon her bed; and by then, of course, it was  
too late. Ranma had already heard her faint whimper, already seen her  
toss and turn. Numbly she turned her head to look at Ranma, and was  
again surprised by the serene concern in her friend's sapphire eyes.   
  
Akane had always lived her life in a continual state of insecurity;  
always convinced that the next day, the next challenge would prove her  
painfully gathered skills inadequate, would leave her bereft and  
lacking in worth. It was not that she did not appreciate her own skills  
as a martial artist; indeed, in some ways those skills were themselves  
the source of the problem.   
  
She was good at martial arts, but, she felt, _only_ at martial arts.  
  
For all of her girlhood, Kasumi had been the perfect female figure.  
When their mother had died, she had stepped into the role of alpha  
female with barely a hitch.   
  
Nabiki had become skilled in manipulation, using her mind and her  
skills at sneakiness to get things accomplished; for the benefit of the  
Dojo itself, mostly, it was true. But to her, for whatever reason or  
purpose, fell the skills of manipulation, of social control and social  
dominance.  
  
Denied primacy in these areas, Akane had specialized in the Art, taking  
up the family school that neither of her sisters had expressed an  
interest in, and in that pursuit she had established a primacy of her  
own.  
  
What she had not established, to herself, was that her primacy was  
real. Always, in the back of her mind, came the thought that her  
sisters had _allowed_ her that primacy, because it did not matter. That  
no-one contested her in it, because no-one cared. That all that her  
effort had bought her was ... nothing.   
  
In the bright light of day she could look around herself and see her  
strengths. In the light it looked like she had made of herself a  
warrior who could overcome any challenge she attempted. In the light it  
looked like the paths she had turned aside from offered little in the  
way of real challenge.   
  
In the light it looked as though _she_ had taken the harder path, the  
path of greatest growth, and that the necessary parts (Oh, not _all_  
the parts, no. But you don't need _all_ the parts to get by.) of the  
others would be ... easy.   
  
Mostly.   
  
In the light.   
  
But here in the night, lying still and quiet in the dark, ... well,  
things do have a tendency to look differently in the dark.   
  
And if you were lying on your back looking up at the ceiling, and if  
you were somehow to relax the guards you normally hold that keep you  
from thinking unpleasant thoughts like that, then, having thought one  
unpleasantness, you might go on to think others.   
  
You might begin to think that the path that you had chosen, far from  
being the path of greatest growth, was instead the path of least  
result. You might begin to think that you had traded the ability to  
make cookies for the ability to nearly get the woman you have just  
realized you love killed.   
  
Or, you might begin to question just how much all this practice you  
have been doing in your chosen field has actually bought you. You might  
begin to compare the things you had learned on your own to the things  
that, let's say, Someone had taught you, and conclude that you had  
learned nothing of value yourself at all.   
  
You might begin to think that you were ... lesser, ... second rate. And  
you might begin to wonder what use you, yourself, actually were. A  
second rater moreover, you might begin to think, who has had the great  
idiocy to fall (say it) in love with a first rater in the same field.  
  
And you might begin to wonder just what use there is in saying, for  
example, "Ranma and Akane".   
  
"Ranma and Kasumi", you might think, makes some sense; "Kasumi" can  
cook ... and clean ... and ... and be Kasumi.   
  
"Ranma and Nabiki" allows "Nabiki" to be sneaky and make money, and  
terrorize people who need to be terrorized.   
  
But if all "Akane" is good for is fighting, and if "Ranma" already has  
the fighting part of "Ranma and Akane" covered, then what use in "Ranma  
and Akane" is ... "Akane"? And if "Ranma and Akane" is a thing that you  
are coming to believe is the thing that makes being "Akane" worthwhile,  
but there is no use in "Ranma and Akane" for "Akane then what use _is_  
"Akane"? Or ... _is_ there any use for "Akane" ... at all?  
  
And these are the sorts of thoughts that have a tendency to cause  
theoretical thinkers Deep Distress, and, on that count, to be relegated  
to the far background and never allowed out into the conscious portion  
of the brain.   
  
This defense mechanism can, in itself, cause certain problems.  
  
For instance, when confronted with the aforesaid "Someone first rate in  
the same field", and the occasion to meditate on silken scarlet hair  
and sea-deep sapphire eyes, and the opportunity to ask the question "Is  
there room in 'Ranma and Akane' for 'Akane'? Or, indeed, is there any  
reason to entertain the concept of 'Ranma and Akane' at all?" then  
thoughts like these might cause you to wimp out.   
  
For another instance, even if you _are_ the "Someone, etc." and even if  
you _know_ that there is indeed very good reason to entertain the  
concept of "Ranma and Akane", and what role "Akane" should play in it,  
it does not necessarily follow that you _also_ know whether there is  
any reason to consider the concept of _"Akane and Ranma"_.   
  
And in this case similar thoughts can not only cause you to wimp out,  
but also to pay less attention to subtleties of interpersonal conver-  
sation than might otherwise be the case.  
  
To summarize the summary of the summary: people are a problem.   
  
All of which goes a long way towards explaining why, when Ranma said,  
"Problems?" Akane did _not_ say, "Yes! I'm tired, I'm sick, I hurt and  
I'm so confused and overwhelmed that I can't think. I need to bury my  
face in your hair for several years to clear my head. Make love to me  
'til I pass out!" but rather (in a much smaller voice), "Can't think.  
Too much." And why Ranma did not, quite, hear what she meant, but only  
what she said.   
  
And also why, when Ranma knelt on the bed and drew Akane up into a  
reverse embrace, so that Akane was sitting in front of Ranma with  
Ranma's arms folded beneath her breasts and the top of her head beneath  
Ranma's chin, and said, "Maybe I can teach you a technique to help. Do  
you trust me?" Akane just said "Yes," instead of "With my honor, my  
life and my soul. And, incidentally, if you wanted to move your hands  
up a bit I'd be perfectly happy to trust you with my body, too." And  
Ranma, of course, missed that, as well.   
  
Even world class martial artists, gifted with the perception to track  
another person's motives and intentions in the heat of mortal combat  
have their occasional off days. Which is a shame, it's true. But it  
just isn't time for this story to go lemon yet.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
"Okay, Acchan," Ranma murmured, "this technique is called 'the  
Rainbow', because the way you begin requires you to picture one in your  
mind. What I am going to ask you to do is to close your eyes, and then  
to impress upon yourself a vision of each of the colors of the rainbow,  
one by one.   
  
"As you visualize each color, you will attach to it all of your  
tensions, unhappiness or pain and imbalance in a specific area. Then,  
when you release the visualization of the color, you will also release  
all the negative chi that you have just collected.   
  
"The order and rhythm of the colors will allow you to completely rid  
yourself of negative energy and to achieve a focused and receptive  
mental state. Then, when you have passed through all the colors, you  
will find yourself standing on a darkened landscape, where you will  
encounter a stairway leading down.   
  
"If you choose to descend the stairway, you will then encounter a  
well-built, solid door, to which, you will find, you hold the only key.  
Behind the door, if you choose to open it, you will find your Library,  
or Study, the metaphorical center of your intellect.  
  
"This technique employs a mixture of focused meditation and self-  
hypnosis, and I repeat that you may _choose_ to descend the stairway,  
and you may _choose_ to open the door to impress upon you that it is  
_your_ door and _your_ stairway, and that _you_ may and must decide  
when, and whether, to proceed in each and every case. I will be here to  
guard you, this first time, and I will show you the way, but it is your  
will that must impel events. If you decide to reverse the exercise, all  
you need do, _at any time_, is open your eyes. Okay?"   
  
Akane nodded, silently.  
  
"Then begin with the first color of the rainbow," Ranma said, quietly,  
"think about red - soft, warm red ..." Ranma kept her voice in a  
soothing, lulling murmur, just loud enough to hear at close range, and  
began to enter into the rhythms and pauses of a hieratic chant.  
  
"All there is is red ... red is the color of physical relaxation ...  
let the red fill every corner of your body, let it pick up all the pain  
and fatigue and tension and then let it flow away ... red flows away  
and is followed by orange ..."   
  
Ranma's low contralto voice flowed over Akane's weary mind and soothed  
her deeper and deeper into a trance state, taking her through the  
colors of the rainbow, and also through all the stages of release of  
care and tension, "... violet is the color of union with the Tao, the  
Tao is everything and nothing, become part of the color and let the  
color become part of you ... drift down with the color as it gets  
darker and darker ... closer and closer to the dark ... less and less  
color ... less and less of everything ... everything going away until  
you are alone with yourself and the Tao ... don't be afraid ... I'll be  
just out here ... nothing will get by me to harm you ... tell me when  
you are ready to go on."   
  
Akane seemed to drift down, through a slowly fading violet haze, down  
to a gentle landing on her feet. All around her she sensed a darkened,  
empty plain stretching far away. Though in looking around she could not  
see any sign of Ranma, her presence still nestled close about her, warm  
and comforting. "Okay," she said, "now what?"  
  
"Turn around," Ranma replied, "Do you see the stairway?"   
  
"Uh-huh. Should I go down?"  
  
"Whenever you're ready."  
  
Akane slowly walked down the stairway, feeling very secure, as though  
she were following an old, familiar pathway to a well-beloved  
destination. At the bottom of the stairs, she came to a small landing,  
seemingly cut out of the living rock. It was filled with a source-less  
illumination, and could be exited in only two ways: the stairway up,  
and a large, forbidding door made of iron-banded oak. The door did not  
open to a touch, and the keyhole exuded a definite impression of  
impregnability.   
  
"Ranchan? I'm at the bottom, but I can't get the door open."  
  
"Look in your pocket. You're carrying the key."  
  
"I don't remember any key that looked like that ... hey! You're right  
Ranchan!" Akane unlocked the door, and opened it into a place of  
wonder. "Ranchan! It's a library alright! Wow! There must be _millions_  
of books and things, there's Mangas all over the place, all my  
favorites ..." (Ranma assumed a pained look.) "... the paintings on the  
walls, they're beautiful ... Kamis! Look at that desk! Thing's big  
enough for planes to land on ... ooohh! Nice, comfy chair too! Ahhh!  
This is really nice, Ranchan. Are you sure it's mine?"  
  
"All yours, Acchan," Ranma chirped. "Let me give you a present?"   
  
"Ummm, sure. What is it?"  
  
"Look on the desk, it may be under something. It's a small book,  
leather binding, thin pages ...."  
  
"I see it! Ranchan! It's really expensive .... are you sure you can  
afford to give it to _me_?"  
  
"Trust me.   
  
"Now, if you open the book, you will see that I've written a word on  
the first several pages, right? The first page says 'Akane', the second  
says 'study', the third says 'focus', the fourth says 'sleep', the  
fifth says 'dream' and the sixth says 'return', right? And the rest are  
blank."  
  
"Yep. So?"  
  
"So if you pick up the book and concentrate on 'Akane' you will then  
concentrate on who you are and why. This will let you more fully  
integrate new skills and experiences into your Tao.   
  
"Likewise 'study' will focus your subconscious on making sense whatever  
the last things you have just learned are, 'focus' will let you  
concentrate on one specific thing that you are thinking of, 'sleep'  
will let you do just that, 'dream' will give you the ability to direct  
and explore your dreams, and 'return' will bring you back.   
  
"You can do more than one thing at once, and if you open your eyes  
without concentrating on 'return' part of you will keep, for instance,  
studying everything you have been learning that day; even while you are  
asleep, or eating dinner, or whatever."  
  
"Gotcha. Pretty cool."  
  
"Glad you like it. Now concentrate on 'return' ...."  
  
Akane opened her eyes and looked around, blinking. She noticed that  
Ranma had somehow moved from behind her, holding her up, to sitting on  
the foot of the bed. 'Awwwww.' "Ohayo, Ranchan, what now?"  
  
"Do me a favor."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Go back under and hit 'Akane' and 'sleep'. I'll see you in the  
morning."   
  
"Spoilsport."  
  
"Slacker."  
  
Akane stretched and yawned, laying back into her covers before Ranma's  
folded arms stance as colors whirled around her. Soon, the beautiful  
walls of her Library opened around her. Walking over to her desk she  
picked up the book Ranma had given her and thumbed through it.   
  
For a few moments she stopped on the first blank page and stared at it  
intensely, then she picked a fine quill pen off the desk and dipped it  
in the ink sitting in the small ink-stone. Poising the pen over the  
page she used the best calligraphy she could muster to write the word  
'Ranma' on it.   
  
Holding the book open in her hands, she sank down into the chair and  
got comfortable. Then she focused her will on the pages 'Ranma',  
'Akane', 'sleep' and 'dream'. On the last word she closed the book and  
put it down on the desk, letting her arms out wide in an enormous  
stretch and cracking all her vertebrae, before settling backwards to go  
to sleep.   
  
Outside the library, Ranma looked down fondly on Akane's sleeping form  
and ghosted out the door and back to the guest room.  
  
And had there been anyone around that night who was able to see the  
rising ghosts of dreams on the night air, that someone might have spied  
the columns of such rising strongly and fully from two separate rooms  
of the big old house, remarked on how similar to each other they were,  
and been astonished.   
  
But there wasn't, and so, no-one did.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma and Akane: A Love Story  
Chapter 6: Immediate Consequences  
Part B: The Morning After the Night Before  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Akane woke up happy.   
  
This was a moderately rare event for her, but she noticed that it had  
been becoming more frequent since the imposition on her life of a  
certain red-haired girl. Regardless of the source of her new-found  
contentment, however, she would normally _not_ have expected this  
morning to be a good one. Too much fear and pain the day before, too  
much expected stress today.  
  
Somehow, though, she had managed to navigate the dark rapids of the  
night and emerge in the hush of early dawn rested, loose-limbed and,  
somehow, entirely content.  
  
Quickly dressing, she picked Isileth from the stand on her dresser and  
slipped the sword into her jacket. Passing silently out her door and  
down the hall to the top of the stairs she stood silently for a moment,  
listening to the silence of the house. Just below the normal limits of  
audibility she could discern Kasumi's ministrations in the kitchen and  
someone singing quietly in the garden.  
  
It's so easy to dream of days gone by,  
So hard to think of times to come.  
And the grace to accept every moment as a gift  
Is a gift that is given to some.  
  
Nabiki woke up discontented.   
  
She had pinned some hopes on the night before, but her surveillance  
activities had come up empty. She was _sure_ that Ranma and her sister  
were lovers, but she had not achieved her lofty reputation as a  
manipulator of events by acting ahead of _certain_ knowledge without  
need.   
  
The remedy for the lack of which certainty had seemed simple, too;  
lovers will tend to cling to one another in times of stress, and  
yesterday's activities _should_ have provided _plenty_ of stress, which  
_should_ have expressed themselves nicely last night.  
  
But except for Ranma teaching Akane some sort of meditation thingy to  
help her sleep, _nothing had happened_.   
  
It was annoying, was what it was.   
  
Worse yet, from her viewpoint, she had theorized that they might,  
perhaps, simply have been too tired the night before; so she had woken  
up at an entirely-too-early time in the morning to continue her  
surveillance. But not only had Ranma already been up, but Akane had  
woken early too, and _again_ they hadn't done anything. Not even a  
kiss!  
  
Ah well, maybe one of them was more aware than she had thought. She  
would simply have to get more subtle. It would be a good challenge.   
  
Or, she might just strangle the gibbering pair of _early_ morning  
songsters.  
  
Blearily and grumpily, Nabiki sat down in the dining room and snarled  
at merrily cheeping birds and cheery sunrise alike.  
  
What can you do with your days,  
But work and hope?  
Let your dreams bind your work to your play.  
What can you do with each moment of your life,  
But live til you've lived it away?  
Live til you've lived it away.  
  
Soun awoke unsettled.   
  
This was hardly unusual, of course. Still, he thought, this was even  
worse than normal. For all the griefs he normally felt, for all the  
power of the terrors and regrets that he normally struggled with, they  
were just that: _normal_, the common structure of his days.   
  
The changes that young Ranma seemed to have brought into his family and  
his life might or might not be terrible, but he felt their abnormality  
keenly nonetheless. Yet alongside this additional weight lurked an  
additional variable, neither necessarily negative nor positive.   
  
With change comes the possibility of change for the better.   
  
Yet if that possibility is not fulfilled is it not more terrible than  
if no such possibility had existed?   
  
At the bottom of every Pandora's Box lurks shining Hope.   
  
Whether that was a good or a bad thing Tendo Soun could not for the  
life of him decide.   
  
There are sorrows enough for the whole world's end,  
There are no guarantees but the grave.  
But this life that we live,   
and the times that we spend,  
Are treasures too precious to save.  
  
Kasumi had probably awoken with the same serenity which she always  
showed the world.   
  
It's always difficult to tell, with Kasumi.   
  
What can you do with your days,  
But work and hope?  
Let your dreams bind your work to your play.  
What can you do with each moment of your life,  
But live til you've lived it away?  
Live til you've lived it away.  
  
Kodachi and Sayuri woke early, each separately deciding that they hated  
hospitals. But we won't get back to them until a little later.   
  
What can you do with your days,  
But work and hope?  
Let your dreams bind your work to your play.  
What can you do with each moment of your life,  
But live til you've lived it away?  
Live til you've lived it away.  
  
And a new day in Nerima began, as Kasumi called her (now slightly  
enlarged) family to breakfast.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The thing that Akane was most aware of as breakfast continued was  
hunger; a great, growing void in her stomach that the breakfast Kasumi  
had brought to table, double-sized though it was, barely dented. Ranma,  
however, had put a surreptitious hand on her shoulder when she would  
have asked Kasumi for more food, holding her to silence.  
  
Once outside the Dojo on the road to Furinkan, Ranma led Akane and  
Nabiki to a small side-street off the Nerima Ginza, wherein they found  
what Nabiki immediately dubbed "the perfect hole-in-the-wall dive." It  
was a very small restaurant, without even a window onto the street. The  
door itself hardly advertised its status as a place of business; much  
more resembling a service entrance for some larger establishment,  
except for the small sign which held the single word, "Gally's".   
  
The inside of the restaurant was clean and neat, if small and dark. It  
was dominated by the enormous grill that swept across the back wall and  
left only a little space into which a counter with ten stools and half  
a dozen small tables had been crammed. There were no customers, and the  
only occupant, who was evidently the cook, looked up at them with an  
expression of professional cheer that lasted only a few seconds.   
  
"Hi! Welcome to Gally's. What I fix may for you today ... _Ranma_?"   
  
"Hiya, Gally-kun, we need eight mega-burgers to go, please."   
  
"Eight ...? Right, eight Megas, to go, coming up."  
  
Gally, if it were she, was a short, elfin girl with straight black hair  
that barely reached her shoulders. She possessed the grace of a martial  
artist in full measure and was almost superhumanly fast and deft. Her  
only unusual features were the black lines beneath her eyes, but both  
Akane and Nabiki received a clear impression of hidden depths, as  
though beneath her unmarked arms and perfect skin a whole collection of  
scars lurked: unseen, yet not unfelt.   
  
Akane, however, quickly found herself distracted from questions of  
deeper reality by her stomach's reaction to the _enormous_ piles of  
savory ground beef, bacon and onions being constructed at lightning  
speed before her eyes. She _had_ been to a McDonald's before , of  
course. She had even ordered a burger there, so she _was_ aware of the  
concept involved. But the idea of 'burger' that she had previously been  
aware of did not really seem to have much to do with the things that  
were taking shape before her eyes.  
  
"So, Ranma-kun," Gally said over her shoulder, "what doing were you  
that touched off an eight-Mega hunger? I mean 'What were you doing?'"   
  
"Aaaactually ... it's closer to a three-Mega hunger, Gally -kun. But  
Acchan here will probably need a little more."  
  
"She's in the same, errr, 'business', Ranma-kun?"  
  
Ranma smiled quietly, "I've taken her as a student."  
  
Gally whipped around and stared at Ranma for a moment, big-eyed. Ranma  
flushed slightly and mumbled, "She shows great promise."  
  
One of the burgers chose that moment to expel some of its grease onto  
the grill, hissing and spitting. Gally gave a small shriek and whipped  
into a cooking frenzy, getting the burgers back under control. "Well,  
I'm glad that it's just normal ..." she trailed off.  
  
Ranma raised an eyebrow at her back and asked, "Yes?"  
  
"It's just that I ... well, yesterday I suddenly got um... it was like  
I suddenly got the idea that you were a lot of trouble in. Silly, huh?  
Hugo told me that he had a bad feeling about mid-morning, too. Said it  
was like 'A goose had walked across his grave.' Honestly, know where he  
comes up with these things I don't."  
  
Ranma sweat-dropped briefly. "Ahh, yeah. Silly. How _is_ Hugo-kun,  
anyway? And Ido-sensei?"  
  
"Ohh, Hugo's _just_ fine. He and Ido are both doing things at Nekomi  
Tech, you know. Techy stuff." She grinned briefly, and fairly lit up  
the room. "It's entirely too geekly for me to be interested in, but it  
makes them _so_ happy...."   
  
"Yee-es," Ranma drawled, "I _do_ seem to recall you being more on the  
side of, mmmm, _practical implementation_, shall we say?"   
  
"Be nice, Ranma-kun. So I like moving fast and blowing things up good.  
Is that any reason for you to be mean to me?" Ranma smirked. "Oh! That  
reminds me," Gally continued, "Hugo and Ido have joined a motor club at  
NIT. Would you come out to the races with us?"  
  
"If nothing, mmm, _serious_ intervenes, sure. When and where?"   
  
Gally finished the first burger and whipped it in front of a nearly  
drooling Akane, who launched into it with vigor.   
  
"I'll get word to you when I know when the next race will be held."   
  
She put together a smaller burger that she had somehow hidden amongst  
the others and wrapped rice paper around it, handing it to Nabiki.  
"First hit's free," she winked.   
  
A short time later on the way out the door, loaded down with a _huge_  
fast-food sack, Ranma turned back briefly. "... soon, Gally-kun. For  
some reason I think that we're about to suffer from an enormous  
addiction to ground beef," and winked in turn.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Nabiki was somewhat amazed at herself, but exceedingly amazed at her  
companions.   
  
The burgers were as good as anything Kasumi could have made, and the  
relatively smallish one she had eaten was still larger than anything  
that she, an experienced consumer of munchies, would have believed she  
could have found room for so soon after breakfast. Yet it was less than  
a third the size of the _eight_ that the slight chef had made for Ranma  
and her sister.   
  
Nabiki was not sure whether to be more amazed that Ranma had finished  
_two_ of them, that her _sister_ had finished two of them, that Akane  
had eaten them with such voraciousness, that Ranma had put _three_ of  
them back for later in the school day, or that she was still carrying  
one of them in her hand, perhaps to eat on the walk _to_ school.  
  
But what Nabiki was _really_ amazed by was that Akane could pack away a  
major Kasumi-style breakfast, follow it with _two_ piles of meat,  
cheese, vegetables and bread that must have tipped the scales at a kilo  
each, and _still_ have the energy to jump about like a moderately  
demented ping-pong ball while "attacking" Ranma.   
  
At least Ranma was being sensible and remaining serene in her manner.  
Though it was a sobering exhibition of just how good she truly was to  
note that she was facing down a sword with a folding fan ... and  
kicking Akane's butt without so much as breaking a sweat.  
  
Nabiki stole a moment from admiring the martial arts exhibition to take  
another searching look at the fan. Nabiki harbored suspicions about  
that fan. Normal fans, after all, do not deflect sword-blades, nor can  
they be used as leverage to flip an opponent fifty feet into the air.   
  
The thing was, though, that it couldn't be a gunsen at all. It was  
plainly visible to anyone's sight: a simple, folding bamboo frame,  
covered with plain rice paper that had never even been died or  
patterned. To Nabiki's eye it seemed to be a well-used three or four  
years old, and the only thing on it was a small calligraphed phrase  
that appeared to be an autograph, or similar, running along one edge.  
  
"Umm, Ranma-san?" Akane slid forward along the fence, Isileth at  
mid-guard. Ranma looked down towards Nabiki's upturned face and flicked  
down beside her as Akane slide-stepped forward along the fence-top.   
  
"Yes, Nabiki-kun?" Ranma lightly rapped Akane's ankles, sending her  
forward another dozen paces as she struggled to control herself.   
  
"I was just wondering where you'd gotten that fan from?" Nabiki  
indicated the fan in question with a gesture as Akane regained control  
by jumping up and high into the air.  
  
"Well, I bought it for Sensei, once ..." Ranma gestured widely with the  
folded implement.  
  
"Haaaah!" Akane came down in a falling pear-splitter. *whsssh* Which  
Ranma dodged, gently guiding the blade past with the fan before *whrt*  
flicking her high into the air again. "Whooaaa!"  
  
"... and when, later, I left his school, so to ..." Ranma flowed around  
to Nabiki's outer side with respect to the street as Akane flipped in  
mid-air and came back down.  
  
"Not that ..." she began to snarl *hfff* as Ranma guided to sword-blade  
past herself again. Akane evaded a fan twist and lunged, perfectly in  
control. There was a *klng* as Ranma blocked the blow close and a  
rapid-fire *klk-klak-klik* as they fenced for fractions of a second  
before *whf* another blow went past and Akane's ".. eas.." trailed off  
behind another *whrt* "... eeeeee!" *THUD*  
  
"... speak, he gave it back. It's just a keepsake, really." Ranma hid  
her face behind the fan in a moderately provocative manner as Akane  
thumped into a telephone pole down the street.  
  
"But you're blocking a _sword_ with it! _And_ flipping my little sister  
umpty-dozen feet in the air. Why doesn't it break?" Nabiki asked  
plaintively as Akane pushed herself away from the pole.  
  
"You should try not to pay so much attention to the world's little  
illusions, Nabiki-kun." Ranma winked.   
  
Akane put Isileth away and threw her arms out in a great, wrenching  
yawn as Ranma and Nabiki came level with her. "Ahhhh! Ranchan, I don't  
think I'm going to get that one easily on my own. It ought to be  
easier; just what are you doing, anyway?"  
  
The explanation Ranma gave Akane lost Nabiki in martial arts  
technicalities almost immediately, and she tuned it out to concentrate  
Ranma's comment. 'Try not to pay so much attention to the little  
illusions? Huh?'  
  
She was not able to concentrate her attention on the question for long,  
however, as she was distracted by a loud growl next to her. Looking  
around, she saw that Akane was paper-white and holding her stomach with  
both hands.  
  
"Ranchan ...," Akane whispered, in a small, panicked voice, but Ranma  
had already unwrapped the burger she had been holding and put into her  
hand. Akane looked at it in shock for a moment before all but falling  
on it slavering.  
  
Nabiki looked on with concern as her sister ravened her way through her  
(effectively) fifth full breakfast of the morning. She would have been  
far more distressed, of course, had Ranma herself not so obviously  
anticipated it, but still ....  
  
Akane herself was no little worried. "Ranchan, what's happening to me?"  
  
"You used up a _whole_ bunch of resources yesterday, Acchan. In fact, I  
would estimate that you used up about twice what you had available. So  
you , we, had to borrow some more, so to speak. This is just the  
pay-back. Well, and the interest too, of course."  
  
"Me and my big ideas," Akane muttered.  
  
"So you'll stay behind, next time?" Ranma asked hopefully.   
  
Akane's glare required no translation. "You _did_ say that you _did_  
need me along, _right_?" she purred.  
  
Ranma sweat-dropped and blushed, grinning weakly, "Errr. Yeah."   
  
"So there."  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The room was mostly dark, if you didn't count the TV. Normally, Sayuri  
was as capable of vegging out as any teenager, but that was when she  
had a choice whether to do so or not. Of course, she could have turned  
the lights up, then she could have spent whole ... seconds ...  
cataloging the flowers and plants.   
  
As of the last time she had done so, fifteen minutes ago, there had  
been 35.   
  
Or, she could read. The signs on the wall, for instance. Why, there  
must be ... twenty of them. That had been half an hour ago.   
  
Of course, looked at objectively, it was sufficient of a miracle that  
she was alive for the sheer lack of anything to do to drive her crazy  
in the first place. She certainly shouldn't complain that her family  
had been too distracted by her miraculous recovery to remember to leave  
her any books. Or even homework.  
  
Or, she could review her suspicions about the source of that 'miracle'  
for the ... twenty-third ... time. Or, she could get right up and  
wander about in the _lovely_ hospital, wearing the _lovely_ hospital  
gown that was actually _more_ embarrassing than if they'd left her  
naked.   
  
At least there weren't any IVs left. Although there wouldn't be anyone  
out there to talk to except patients she didn't know and who certainly  
had worse problems than her and staff members who certainly wouldn't  
have time to amuse one teenage girl.  
  
It was certainly a better policy to wait quietly until someone came to  
visit her. If she avoided straining anything, they might let her go  
home, she supposed, sometime next week.  
  
Sayuri leaned back in her bed and watched the television's flickering  
glow for a few moments, then slung her feet over the edge of the bed  
and found a spare gown. This she put on over her original gown, but  
backwards. She topped off with a towel from the bathroom wrapped around  
her waist. Then she opened the door and went out into the corridors.   
  
It was either that, or another dubbed episode of Wheel of Fortune.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Kodachi lay back in her bed with the TV off, and gathered her strength.  
Her leg was still very weak, in her estimation, and her face ached in a  
pattern that suggested to her that she might well end up with a  
permanent scar. Her eyes were closed in concentration, because she was  
attempting something that she had only heard stories about.   
  
She was trying to visualize all of the relevant acupuncture points for  
legs and arms and to connect them in a chi circulation circuit. It  
didn't help that she had never actually even felt her chi per se, of  
course, but it was something to do to pass the time until her torturer/  
therapist showed up.   
  
And keeping her eyes closed to concentrate on her visualization meant  
that she didn't have to look at her room.   
  
Which didn't have anything in it to look at but the flowers that  
Ranma-sensei and Akane-san had left.   
  
And she knew what _they_ looked like.  
  
Unfortunately, self-hypnosis had never been among the skills she had  
mastered, nor was she particularly skilled in mediation. Despite her  
best efforts the necessary distance from the red dust of earth would  
not come to her. Thus, the unexpected opening of her door came as  
something of a relief. It _was_ a little odd, since it was outside the  
nurse's and therapist's schedules and no-one was likely to come by to  
visit _her_ in the middle of a school-day, but _some-one_ appeared to  
have done so. She sat up in bed and raised her lights.   
  
The appearance of a small, long-haired girl in two hospital gowns and a  
towel was thus somewhat unexpected.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The school-yard before first bell was a hotbed of rumor and specul-  
ation.   
  
The only sure information was that Sayuri had come out of her coma at  
last and that Ranma had had something to do with it. Persistent rumor  
whispered Akane's name as well; said that she had died curing Sayuri's  
illness; said that _Ranma_ had died curing Sayuri's illness; said that  
Ranma and Akane had died _together_, and in each other's arms; said  
that the "in each other's arms" part was right but that they were still  
quite alive, thank you (nudge, nudge, wink, wink, etc.); denied all of  
the above for the thought that Sayuri's "illness" had been induced by  
The Forces Of Darkness, who had finally been defeated by Magical Girl  
Ranma and her apprentice; and threw around other thoughts, some of  
which were very strange and inaccurate indeed. The absence of  
Furinkan's normal source of rumors and hearsay, Tendo Nabiki, did  
nothing but add fuel to the fire.  
  
Yuka had originally been besieged, but since she had been otherwise  
occupied worrying about Sayuri she had little data to give. This had  
caused the crowd to fragment and so she had had to latch on to Daisuke  
and Hiroshi in order to have someone to speculate with. Nonetheless,  
she was the first to hear the distant voices, silver and gold.   
  
I was riding west, through Ontake Mountains.  
The hills were heavy with new-fallen snow,  
And the sun-bright hills were dappled like a pony,  
I was riding hard, I had miles to go.  
  
And a magpie flew, 'cross the mountain highway,  
It flashed and tumbled, through the golden trees,  
And I thought of you, and my heart was lifted,  
And floated with that magpie, on the morning breeze.  
  
Hiroshi and Daisuke noticed her silence and then, moments later, the  
reason for it. Caught up between going to hear the voices better and  
gaining height so they could see better, the Average Pair settled for  
trying to shush people instead.  
  
We are brief Summer lightning,  
We are swift as swallows' flight.  
We are sparks that spiral upwards,  
In the darkness of the night.  
We are frost upon the window,  
We won't pass this way again,  
In the end only love remains.  
  
Across the Furinkan schoolyard ripples of silence spread, as the spell  
of leaping flame and swirling wind touched briefly here and there and  
then passed on.  
  
Tonight the Harvest Moon hangs over the valley,  
I see the hills shine, in its silvery light.  
It's the same old Moon, that shines down upon me,  
And'll light my way, till I'm by your side.  
  
For where I go, You go with me,   
Though the miles keep us apart.  
Your kisses on my lips, and your arms around me,  
And your gentle hands, always on my heart.  
  
Some heard in the song confirmations of theories. Some did not.   
  
We are brief Summer lightning,  
We are swift as swallows' flight.  
We are sparks that spiral upwards,  
In the darkness of the night.  
We are frost upon the window,  
We won't pass this way again,  
In the end only love remains.  
  
Nabiki, walking just behind Ranma and Akane, marveled. She had always  
known that her little sister was good at martial arts, but who would  
have thought that _this_ was hiding under there, too.   
  
Well who scattered these diamonds,  
through the vault of Heaven?  
Who drew the curve of the magpie's wing?  
Who shaped your face, and what made you love me?  
Where is the heart of every living thing?  
  
Well, I guess I don't know, and I don't care either.  
I know you love me, how could it not be?  
And I am yours, now and forever,  
'Til my lips fall silent, and my eyes can't see.  
  
Somewhere in the back of her mind words like 'Idol' and 'Agent' were  
flashing, surrounded by scads of beautiful yen signs, but for the  
moment even Nabiki was lost in the song.  
  
We are brief Summer lightning,  
We are swift as swallows' flight.  
We are sparks that spiral upwards,  
In the darkness of the night.  
We are frost upon the window,  
We won't pass this way again,  
In the end Dear, only love remains.  
  
Ranma and Akane entered the schoolyard to a wall of stunned silence.   
  
Akane almost blushed, but Ranma smiled broadly and spread her arms wide  
and the walls of Furinkan picked up her shouted "Good Morning,  
Furinkan!" and blurred it back into a roaring cheer.   
  
Yuka hurtled from her position by the doors with a cry of "Ranma-san,  
Akane-chan!" Like a hyperactive heat-seeking missile she hurled herself  
into Ranma's arms shouting "Thank you! Thank you for saving Sayuri-  
chan!" Slipping free from a slightly staggered Ranma she turned on  
Akane, and froze with a cry of shock.  
  
Yuka's wailed "Akane-san! What happened?!" pretty well silenced the  
cheering and when Yuka gently grasped Akane's blushing face by the chin  
and turned her head everyone could see the scars - and see, also, the  
night-black void of the eye beneath them, lit now by nebulas of flaming  
red and swirling gold.  
  
The stunned silence lasted for several seconds as Akane's blush  
achieved near nuclear proportions but the blush faded instantly when  
Yuka broke the silence ... by bursting into tears.  
  
Akane swept Yuka into her arms and hugged her hard. "Shh, Yuka-chan.  
It's all right. I'm not hurt, it's just a scar, like; the eye still  
works."  
  
"But ... *snff* ... I mean, are you sure Akane-san? It looks like ..."   
  
Akane blushed again, but rallied, "I'm _sure_, believe me. It looks  
weird as hell, but everything works just fine."  
  
"But _how_?" Yuka said.  
  
"Oh, well," Ranma said, dryly, "she _is_ a hero, you know."   
  
"But then why don't _you_ have one, Ranma-san?" someone called.   
  
Ranma ran a possessive hand over her flaming hair and said, "Each to  
their own."   
  
A small wave of chuckles was broken by another cry from the rear ranks:  
"Three cheers for Ranma and Akane!"  
  
"Banzai!!"   
  
Ranma smirked and covered her mouth with her fan as Akane's blush went  
beyond Mega-Nuclear to Don't Point That At My Planet.   
  
"_Banzai!!_"   
  
Akane resolved to kill the person who had spoken, but afterwards.  
Still, no-one had ever cheered _her_ before. When you came down to it,  
it was kind of nice.  
  
"BANZAI!!"   
  
And the left eye in her thrown back face flamed, briefly, a solid gold.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma and Akane: A Love Story  
Chapter 6: Immediate Consequences  
Part C: When I Was A Fighting Man, The Kettle-Drums They Beat  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The trouble with being a hero, Akane decided, is that the effort  
required to be one tends to distract you from whatever else you're  
doing, but you still have to do it anyway. Or, at least, you still have  
to do it if 'it' is schoolwork.  
  
Also, teachers are remarkably resistant towards accepting 'I spent most  
of yesterday in Hell. I didn't have _time_ to do homework.' as an  
excuse. (What was _truly_ irritating was that Ranma _had_ done her  
homework.)  
  
After your whole school has cheered you as a hero, being sent into the  
hall for the buckets can be a terrible letdown.   
  
But, somehow, it wasn't. She considered her feelings as she stood in  
the hall, and tried to pin down just _why_ it wasn't.  
  
Mostly, she decided, because it really didn't matter. The school knew.  
She knew. Ranma knew. Probably even the teachers knew. It was more a  
matter of the routine maintenance of order than anything really  
serious. It wasn't like the 'shame' was going to blight her record.  
  
Really, she suddenly realized, it wasn't as if her school record had  
any _real_ meaning. Even if she didn't stay with Ranchan after her  
high-school days were behind her (she knew she couldn't, and the  
thought was more painful than any other she'd ever had), her life had  
taken an irrevocable turn for the weird and the adventurous.   
  
It would not be possible for her to live a normal life as a normal  
Japanese girl. Had it ever _been_ possible? Well, she wasn't sure, any  
more than she was sure just what it _was_ possible for her to be.   
  
She supposed she'd find out.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
It was weird.  
  
This girl. Sayuri. She'd just ... wandered in and started talking.  
  
Weird.  
  
Hadn't even wanted anything from her, hadn't wanted information. Just  
kept her company. Sympathized with her.  
  
Wasn't related to her, didn't owe her anything. Didn't even go to the  
same school. She'd even had to ask her _name_. Hadn't connected her to  
her brother until Kodachi herself had mentioned it. Sayuri had been  
surprised.   
  
So, if she didn't want to be seen with Kodachi for social purposes (in  
a hospital?), and didn't want access to her brother, what _did_ she  
want?  
  
Kodachi was forced to conclude that she wanted to be friends.  
  
Strange. Very, very strange.  
  
Kodachi had never had .... Well, _of course_ she'd had friends. She'd  
had lots of them. But she'd never had ....  
  
She'd never had a friend who was just ... a friend.  
  
She was even ... protective. _Actually_ protective. She'd gotten _very_  
mad that no-one from St. Herebreke had stopped by, or even sent a card.   
  
She had ... she had ... she'd shared her views on school with Kodachi.  
Just talking. She'd _gossiped_. Just like they were two schoolgirls.  
Just like Kodachi was a normal girl.  
  
_No-one_ had _ever_ treated Kodachi like she was a normal girl. Ever.  
  
Well, there was no reason for them to. She was _Kuno Kodachi_. She was  
_rich_. She was special.   
  
Wasn't she?  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Sayuri felt that Kodachi must be very brave. She had stood up to a  
dreadful monster (_she_ knew) and she wasn't even depressed about the  
scar on her face or anything.  
  
Mind, Sayuri also felt that the scar actually looked good. For a scar,  
that is. Sort of piratical. But Kodachi was going to have an operation  
to have it removed, soon. Which was good, because a girl really  
shouldn't have scars for very long because people could react badly.  
  
What Sayuri was actually concerned with, of course, was Kodachi's  
potential ability to attract a boyfriend. She would have recommended  
someone, but she didn't know any decent ones herself. It was, she felt,  
already sufficiently difficult to find a good prospect without having  
to worry about turning them off because of a scar.  
  
Sayuri had awoken with memories. She wasn't entirely sure about the  
veracity of _all_ of them. But she remembered enough. Ranma- and Akane-  
sempai had come to get her. They had rescued her in some way or anoth-  
er. She would have to ask Ranma-sempai about exactly what had gone on.  
  
Central to the traditional moral character of Japanese society are  
four interlinked concepts: On, Gimu, Giri and Ninjo. While  
translations are, by nature, inexact, a Westerner would probably  
translate them as Reciprocity, Piety, Duty and Compassion.   
  
Reciprocity requires acknowledgment and repayment of debt,  
including honor debt. Piety exhorts the debtor to allegiance to  
the debt-holder's cause, in ongoing repayment of debts otherwise  
too great to fully repay. Duty invokes the balancing of  
obligations as the highest function of an honorable life.  
Compassion requires empathy with others, and recognizes that all  
people are one, beneath the surface differences that karma  
imposes.  
  
Ranma-sempai and Akane-sempai had stormed Hell itself to rescue her,  
for compassion's sake. Sayuri wasn't sure that the debt could be  
repaid, but she was determined to try. Showing compassion herself  
seemed to be a good way to start.  
  
Besides, she truly did like the other girl. And there was no doubt in  
her mind that Kodachi _needed_ a little compassion, needed it badly. It  
was in the eyes, a certain mix of defensiveness and loneliness. She had  
seen it before.  
  
Once Yuka had had that look, when she was new to Junior High. She had  
offended the dignity of one of the fashionable cliques, and had been  
nearly shunned for her trouble. Akane had noticed it and had dragged  
Sayuri into a friendship that had never since faltered. Then later  
Akane herself had begun to grow that look, and Sayuri had not at all  
known what to do about it.  
  
Greater than all other terrors is helplessness. Three times in her life  
Sayuri had felt that great terror, once in retrospect and twice dir-  
ectly. Once she had been saved by Akane, once by Ranma, once by both.   
  
But in the course of that last rescue, running up a long slope, she had  
discovered that she need no longer be helpless. She had found a source  
of power in the bone-handled hilts of a pair of long knives. (Or  
perhaps she had discovered the power earlier, beneath the knife and the  
iron. But she did not send her mind back to that place of lies to see.)  
  
She had left the knives behind, imbedded in sulfurous dust and ichor-  
stained flesh. And yet, in some way, she still seemed to feel them  
within her hand, warm and sure-gripped, almost alive in their response  
to her arm and will.   
  
Knives can be used for many things.   
  
Sayuri was a good cook, and experienced with knives.   
  
It came to her, looking at the darkness in Kodachi's dark eyes, that  
no-one who has a knife is truly helpless. It came to her that there are  
many kinds of knives. The lurking darkness was a bitter enemy, but it  
was an enemy that she had faced before, and it seemed to her that she  
might just have a knife fit to cut it.  
  
Sayuri chatted on, using gossip and patter, talk of the latest shows  
and magazines, what idol singer was hot, what idol singer was cold, and  
how long they each would stay that way. What Kodachi did at home, what  
Sayuri did at home. Recipes and music and video-games and sweets and  
boys.  
  
Within fifteen minutes she had giggles. Within an hour they were  
chatting away as if they had known each other all their lives. Just as  
if they were at a sleep-over. Just as if they were talking after  
school. Just as if they were passing notes in class. Just a normal  
conversation, between two normal teen-age girls, who happen to be best  
friends.  
  
Normality and friendship, to cut the dark away. Strange knives to make  
strange cuts, Sayuri thought. But you had to take your knives where you  
found them sometimes. After all, strange or not, a knife was a knife.  
And Sayuri was good with knives.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
By lunchtime, she had a pile of notes that almost covered her desk.  
Fortunately, the teacher was understanding. Unfortunately, there was no  
way she could possibly reply to most of them. She didn't even dare read  
them, in case one of them asked something she couldn't afford to react  
to.  
  
Fame and triumph could be quite wearing.  
  
As could other things as well, of course.  
  
There was, in one corner of Furinkan yard, a tree. This had a low  
lying, broad, flat limb perhaps four or five feet off the ground.  
Underneath the limb there was a sheltered spot of shade. This area had  
been annexed by Ranma soon after she arrived at Furinkan, and was  
already locally known by the students thereof as Ranma's Branch and  
Akane's Spot.  
  
Ranma would stretch out on the limb and idle, while Akane sat under-  
neath her in the shade and dozed or ate, frequently listening to Ranma  
play the flute or lecture on some arcane bit of cultural trivia or  
other. Under normal circumstances Ranma considered lunch a thing which  
should not be trivially disturbed.   
  
Today, however, was not a normal circumstance.  
  
For some reason best known to herself, Ranma had decreed a period of  
weapons drill. This involved several annoyances, from Akane's point of  
view. First, it meant that she had to cram down a great deal of food in  
a great hurry, which she considered distasteful. Second, it required  
her to bounce around like a superball even to avoid embarrassing  
herself against Ranma's skill.  
  
Third, it meant that she had to exercise even greater control over her  
movements than would normally be the case in a sparring match, lest she  
injure another student. Fourth, even despite this control, it was  
positively amazing how little protection a sword blade, a cupped hand-  
guard and a blade-breaker hilt could be against a fan.  
  
Lastly, Ranma regarded sparring time as an excellent forum for devel-  
oping her cultural literacy, her store of trivia and her aptitude for  
quotation. Generally, by quoting extensively and extempore from the  
_Tale of Genji_ or _The Dream of the Red Chamber_. Translating the  
latter in midstream, of course, because Akane was quite incapable of  
speaking Chinese. Worse, Ranma meant to develop her ability to quote  
passages back, and was unerring in her ability to remember what Akane  
was already supposed to have heard (and, therefor (naturally), know by  
heart.)  
  
Altogether, it was enough to drive a respectable Tendo to tears. Or  
something. And she had discovered that she _despised_ the _Dream of the  
Red Chamber_. (Partly because getting passages thrown at you between  
the hand-strokes is _not_ the way to develop an appreciation for  
literary complexities or for the subtleties of the prophetic heroic  
form as Ranma interpreted it. And partly because, in her humble  
opinion, _The Dream Of the Red Chamber_ _sucked rocks_.)  
  
All in all, she would much have preferred if nothing _else_ had managed  
to come up. Unfortunately, Ranma's attitude of sunny certainty that no  
additional straw that might be piled atop her would _actually_ be the  
one straw too many seemed to be rubbing off on some of the other people  
around her.  
  
Such, for instance, as Nabiki.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
|Step forward. Feint. Three arc. Four-corner.|  
Spin. Sidestep-leap. Block low-to-high-to-cross-guard. Leap.  
  
"Umm. Ranma-san?" Uncertainty was uncharacteristic for Nabiki, but she  
didn't normally try to talk business with someone who was busy using a  
fan to chase someone who was using a sword around Furinkan yard. "Can I  
talk to you two about something?" At least Ranma wasn't moving very  
fast.  
  
|Casual feint. Side-swipe. Jodan. Chudan.|  
Land blocking. Slide back. Disengage. Block low-to-high.  
  
"Sure, Nabiki-san. What's on your mind?" Ranma moved Akane sideways, so  
that she wouldn't crowd Nabiki. "Acchan, if you don't attack you're  
going to lose, you know."  
  
|Slide-strike. Reverse kick. Three-strike. Jodan.|  
Parry. Riposte-to-stop block. Disengage, under cover. Duck.  
  
"What's up, Oneechan?" Akane chirped brightly, "And Ranchan, you know  
I'm gonna lose anyway. If I keep on the defensive, you might make a  
mistake."  
  
|V-step. Sweep-to-Gedan. Slap parry-and-bind. Flip.|  
Sweep kick-to-tumble dodge. Jump. Jodan cross. 'ohshit' WHAM  
  
"Waiting for your opponent to make a mistake is very passive, Acchan."  
Ranma chided, gently, "You should be _causing_ mistakes, because a  
skilled opponent won't make any otherwise." As Akane spun through the  
air, Ranma raised an eyebrow, "See?"  
  
Akane had managed to rotate upright as she flew, but had not managed to  
get her legs in line with the wall. A puff of dust rose from the  
impact, and she stayed flattened against the wall about five feet off  
the ground for a moment before slowly sliding down. Nabiki winced, a  
reaction shared by many of the watching students.  
  
Her eyes wide and unfocussed, Akane shook her head as she reached the  
ground. "Theoretically, anyway," she mumbled, "Where'd that wall come  
from, anyway?"  
  
Ranma's lip curved upward in a gentle smile. "It's been there for  
twenty years or so, I think. They don't usually move."  
  
"Funny." Akane pushed herself to her feet, sheathing her sword. "I'm  
going to put the sword up and start using a stick. It'd be faster."   
  
Ranma smiled slightly, before turning back to Nabiki.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
And then there had been the weird thing that Nabiki had wanted to ask.  
Akane would never in her wildest dreams have expected Nabiki to declare  
that she and Ranma were as good as idol singers, nor have expected that  
Nabiki would offer to have a demo made.  
  
She probably _should_ have expected it, but she hadn't. She _had_  
expected Ranma's reaction. She even agreed with it, although she was a  
_little_ sorry that she wouldn't get to hear their songs on the radio.  
But being an idol singer would cut _much_ too far into training time,  
and other things.  
  
And besides, if being famous just in Furinkan was this ... embarrass-  
ing, what might being famous on the street be like?  
  
When you thought about it, fame was something of an impediment to a  
Martial Artist, really. She should do her best to avoid it.   
  
In the future.   
  
You bet.  
  
Still. It _was_ a shame.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
'Thirty spokes meet at a nave,' Kodachi thought, sadly, 'Because of the  
hole we may use the wheel.' Sayuri was dancing around the edges of  
something.  
  
It showed up in the pauses. Like many things, really. A matter of  
things not said, of topics not raised.  
  
She was good at it, and good at detecting it. All she had to do now was  
steer the conversation a little and she would find out what it was.  
Sayuri was _not_ good at it.  
  
She didn't want to.  
  
It would be ... she had ... Sayuri ...  
  
It had been _so_ much fun, thinking that Sayuri wanted just to be her  
friend. She really didn't want to find out what Sayuri's ulterior  
motives were. She really didn't. But, she had to.  
  
She set about doing so. Slowly, gently. Piece by piece. The spokes  
define the wheel, but the part you use is at the center, and around the  
edge. If you look at the shape of the wall, you can, if you're good,  
tell what lies _behind_ the wall.  
  
Piece by piece, the picture grew, but the picture made no sense. It was  
....  
  
It was almost as though _she_ didn't matter at all, but then in the  
next instant it was as though she _did_ matter, but not because of who  
she was, but just because ....  
  
It made no sense. If Sayuri wanted Kodachi to do something _for_ her,  
she should be interested in what Kodachi _was_; what her contacts were,  
who she knew, which circles she moved in. And she wasn't, didn't care  
at all. On that point, if on no other, Kodachi was willing to swear.  
  
Oh, Sayuri would _talk_ about them, but she was more interested in how  
Kodachi felt, in what _she_ thought of them. She didn't seem to have  
any idea of how they could be used, or even that they _could_ be used.  
She seemed, honestly, to feel as though they were part of a world in  
which she would never move, or even wished to.  
  
Now, if Sayuri wanted Kodachi to enhance her standing in her own social  
circles, she should be interested in either getting Kodachi to visit  
that circle or in getting to visit _Kodachi's_. And she wasn't,  
especially.   
  
Kodachi thought that it was _vaguely_ possible that she could be wrong,  
... there was this 'mall hanging' thing that Sayuri had mentioned, and  
she was positively _enthusiastic_ about a 'slumber party' ... she  
_thought_ she knew what those were, but ... it seemed to _her_ that  
someone ... well it was the same problem as before. Sayuri should be  
looking for details, names to drop, commitments, something of that  
sort.  
  
But, she just wasn't.  
  
The _other_ odd thing was the apprehension. It was fairly well buried,  
but there was definitely a thread of ... well, not _fear_ exactly, but  
something like it. But it wasn't directed at her.   
  
It seemed almost as though Sayuri was _worried_. Worried about Kodachi  
and worried about herself, at the same time. And Kodachi was willing to  
say that the worries had the same _cause_, too.  
  
Now. What could ....  
  
Hmmm.  
  
Well, what had Ranma-sensei said that Sayuri was in the hospital for,  
anyway? She was sure that she had heard ....  
  
Oh, yes! Sayuri had been ... unconscious ... because ....  
  
Sayuri, she suddenly remembered, had been unconscious, almost in a  
coma, because of something that had happened to her during the attack  
by that _creature_. She might have also been attacked. Ranma-sensei,  
she remembered, had seemed almost worried.  
  
Not good. No telling what ....   
  
She didn't look _physically_ damaged, but ....  
  
Oh, dear.  
  
Well. She would simply have to find out. If ... something ... _had_  
happened, then ....  
  
Well, then _she_, Kuno Kodachi, still the Black Rose, would have _two_  
grievances. Very severe ones.  
  
_And_, she, Kodachi, would also have a friend, or, at least, a compan-  
ion in suffering, who she would be responsible for.  
  
Sayuri seemed to think that _she_ could, and should, protect _Kodachi_.  
From the terrible threat of being lonely, if from nothing else. Who  
knew? Perhaps she was right.  
  
Slowly, again, and carefully, Kodachi began to move the conversation to  
her will. But not, this time, to steer a wheel.  
  
This task would require strength, as much as guile. It was obvious that  
Sayuri would not willingly speak of her troubles; and yet, she was also  
carrying some great weight. If she was given reason to place the  
burden, or part of it, on another's shoulders, would she not do so?  
  
Kodachi was quite sure that she could carry at least as large a load as  
Sayuri did. Whatever she was carrying, Kodachi could bear it.  
  
Slowly. Cautiously. Carefully. Making words into clay. Moulding clay  
into a cup. Piece by piece, turn by turn, layer by layer. Not to build  
a wall, not to weave a net, but merely to shape a space, that Sayuri  
must eventually fill.  
  
The Clay is merely the vessel; it is the hollow that makes the cup.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Music was being ... interesting.  
  
Maeda-sensei (Music) had been approached by Hachisuka-sensei (English).  
The result of which was ....  
  
"Okaaay." Yuka held her head. "Ranma-sempai's going to help us learn  
better English by _Karaoke_?!"  
  
Ranma chuckled. "Not _quite_, Yuka-kun. I'm going to teach you to  
_sing_ better English. It should help your accents and word choice."  
  
"Do you even _know_ any popular English songs, Ranchan?" Akane queried.  
  
"Oi!" Ranma snapped, frostily. "_Certainly_ I do! I'm just trying to  
figure out which ones they are!"  
  
"Ah." Akane met Ranma's glance with an expression of pure, wide eyed  
innocence.  
  
Ranma red-eyed her. "Biiiiidah!"  
  
"Now," Ranma turned back to her notes, "Ah-hah! Found it. This one was  
on the radio when I was in Chicago. I think it was some movie tune or  
other. Anyway. Page ... ah ... page 32. See it?"  
  
Various rustlings ensued as people flipped papers and stared at them.  
  
"Okay," Ranma bent forward, sitting on a chair with her guitar in her  
lap, "the chords go like this, and the first verse is ...  
  
Sometimes the snow comes down in June  
Sometimes the sun goes round the moon  
I see the passion in your eyes  
Sometimes it's all a big surprise  
  
The author will be kind, and spare his readers any attempt at  
describing the cacophony which followed.  
  
Ranma winced. Hard. "Ahhhh. Lets ... lets take it one line at a time,  
okay?"  
  
Sometimes the snow comes down in June  
  
"No, Yuka-kun; 'snow' not 'srow'....  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
It took ages. Long before it ended, Kodachi knew that she had been  
wrong. She wasn't strong enough. No human was strong enough. Except,  
just possibly, Sayuri.  
  
She had crafted herself a cup, she thought numbly, and now it had  
overflowed. She had no-one to blame but herself.  
  
Towards the beginning, she had moved herself, and her injured leg, next  
to Sayuri, seeking to offer comfort. That was towards the beginning.  
  
But it was not long before she realized that she was desperately trying  
to build a defense. A wall of dispassion and distance. Between herself  
and the quiet voice, quietly reciting horrors. As though they were  
distant and unimportant. As though she did not know (but she _did_  
know) that the horror the voice was laying out was horror that the  
voice itself had felt, had tasted, had been. As though the voice had  
not been part of the horror.   
  
But it had. She _knew_ it had. And _because_ it had, she was part of  
the horror, too.  
  
Long before the story ended, Kodachi was huddled next to Sayuri.  
_Seeking_ comfort.   
  
Sayuri seemed pleased to offer it.  
  
Seeking a wall, against the terror of the world. Finding a rock, to  
anchor the wall to. Building bricks from words, rapidly, hastily.   
  
Where there are no walls to offer shelter, a wall may yet be built. One  
wall may offer but little shelter, yet where you may build one wall,  
you may build another.   
  
And then another yet.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
She hadn't meant to speak of it. She had told Kodachi too much. Much  
too much. The girl was in the _hospital_, darn it, with her leg all  
bunged up. What had she been thinking?  
  
She pulled herself together with great force. Someone needed her help.  
_Kodachi_ needed her help. You could cling to that. It was a rock and a  
pillar, being needed, if you let it be one.  
  
You could use it, too. You could hold on and let it bear your weight,  
and then you could kick rocks out of the side, and make a staircase.  
And you could walk up the staircase, all the way to the top.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
She didn't remember what she said, or what Sayuri replied, but somehow  
Kodachi pulled away. It was a gradual process.  
  
But, bit by bit, she recalled herself to herself, and built on the  
foundation that herself provided. When the flood is sweeping down, you  
build a wall.  
  
When you've built a wall, you build another, and another, and another.  
  
When you're surrounded with walls you start building them higher.   
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Kodachi was withdrawing, and it was all her fault.  
  
Not that she could blame her. If _she_ had had all that ... nastiness  
dropped on her, _she'd_ have withdrawn, too. Not that that made it any  
better.  
  
But withdrawing was the wrong thing to do, she knew it was. You had to  
bide your time, and then you had to go _at_ whatever was wrong, because  
otherwise it would run over you.  
  
Kodachi had something wrong. Well, aside from the leg, and the scar,  
which were obvious. There was something _else_ wrong, too. She didn't  
know what it was, or how to find out, but she knew it was there.  
  
And if Kodachi withdrew, if she put up walls around herself, whatever  
it was would just _sit_ there and get worse and _worse_ ....  
  
She was supposed to be Kodachi's _friend_. Some friend.  
  
It was all her fault.  
  
So she would have to fix it.  
  
She didn't know _how_ she would, but she would have to find a way. She  
was not going to stand helplessly by. Never stand by helplessly again.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Late at night, a big ole house gets lonely,  
I guess every form of refuge has it's price  
  
As the school day at Furinkan ended, some of the departing student body  
behaved in unusual ways. Most of them, of course, promptly scattered  
for home or their normal after-school activities, breaking up into  
pairs and singletons and small groups. But two large clots of students  
did _not_ break up, but remained coherent.  
  
He looked at the chart but he looked in vain  
Heavy cloud but no rain  
  
One group, all boys, was joined by a small man with a ferocious white  
mustache, who rounded them up and marched them off. The other, about  
twenty students of mixed gender, wandered off down the road. A casual  
observer would have noticed that they were traveling in the general  
direction of Nerima General Hospital.  
  
Cause there was a time when all I did was wish  
You'd tell me this was love  
  
A _careful_ observer would have noticed that some of them were singing.  
A _very_ careful observer might also have noticed that, while the  
voices that were singing tended to alternate, two were predominate,  
with at least one of the two always involved. A furry, golden contral-  
to, and a pure silver mezzo-soprano. But it would have to have been a  
_careful_ observer.  
  
Now I don't know where the moral is,  
Or how this song should end  
  
A _casual_ observer could have followed them, and seen that they _were_  
heading for Nerima General, directly. And a casual observer might have  
wondered at their good cheer. Even people who work at Hospitals are  
seldom cheerful, and few people walk to one with laughter and song.  
  
'Cause I don't wanna go on with you like that  
Don't wanna be a feather in your cap  
  
And that question, as the group spilled into the lobby of the Hospital  
in a flurry of (much quieter) good cheer, would have taxed even a good  
observer to the utmost. But no-one was particularly observing the group  
at the moment, and so, no such question was asked.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Nabiki made the discovery, and was unsettled. This led to her finding a  
nurse, and transferring the unsettlement on. In a less-well run estab-  
lishment, the resulting chain reaction could conceivably have provided  
amusement for some time, but fortunately Nerima General was well run.  
  
Shaking her head and talking quietly with Dr. Tofu and the floor  
physical therapist, Ranma walked towards Kodachi's room, followed by  
Akane and the others, bearing gifts of flowers purchased in the  
Hospital Gift Shop.  
  
Shifting her flower arrangement to one hand, Ranma knocked on the  
indicated door and opened it, to reveal a pale Sayuri, sitting in a  
chair, and a very quiet and still Kodachi, lying on her bed. She  
ushered Akane, Yuka and Tatewaki in the door, waving to the others to  
wait for a minute and then closing it after herself.  
  
"I've had complaints about you," Ranma said in a semi-humorous tone.  
  
Sayuri brought her head around with a mutinous light in her eyes.  
"Ranma-sempai! I couldn't just _lie_ there!"  
  
"And why not?" Akane came forward past Ranma and put her flowers down  
on Kodachi's table. "Hello, Kodachi-kun, we've brought you and Sayuri-  
chan some flowers."  
  
"Oh, no! Akane-chan, I already have more flowers than will ...." As  
Akane came back around the table Sayuri's eyed widened and her voice  
rose to a squeak, as she half rose from her seat. At the same time,  
Kodachi sucked in her breath in a gasp, as Akane's left eye swirled  
with flecks of red and gold in the flourescent light.  
  
"Well then," Yuka grinned, "if you don't want the flowers, we'll give  
them all to Kodachi-san."  
  
"Akane-chan!" Sayuri wailed as Akane perched on the arm of her chair  
and hugged her. "Your eye!"  
  
"What about it?" Akane grinned.  
  
"What _about_ it? It ... you ... but ... Yukaaaa!" Sayuri clutched at  
her gown.  
  
"It just changed color, Sayuri-chan. There's nothing wrong with it."  
Akane's voice was pure sweet realism.  
  
"_Just_ changed color?! Nothing _wrong_ with it?! Yuuukaaaa! Reason  
with her!" Sayuri cringed as she gently reached out a hand to touch  
Akane's left cheek. There were scars there, three scars across the  
cheek, and she _knew_ in the marrow of her bones what kind of thing had  
made them. She had seen them, often enough, on her own flesh.  
  
Akane-chan! Akane-chan had been hurt! For her! By Them!  
  
Kill! She wanted to kill. She wanted to rip and tear and smash and  
destroy! Another of her friends was hurt! If she had possessed a tail,  
it would have been bottled out in pure, furious rage.  
  
Her vision was suddenly forced to timeshare. Yuka's face, chin  
pugnaciously forward, thrust itself into her vision.  
  
"We are not here to talk about Akane-chan's eye, Sayuri-chan." Yuka's  
voice was low and grim. "We're here to look after someone who almost  
got _killed_ on us!" Suddenly Yuka broke down in tears and glomped  
Sayuri, trembling. "Don't go and try to die on us again, Sayuri-chan.  
We've lost too may friends from Furinkan as it is."  
  
Kodachi lay on her bed, and felt the walls grow higher. She watched the  
little gathering by the bed-side and knew that she should do something.  
The face of the Kuno family demanded that she show ninjo and control in  
this time of stress for a friend, but all she could do ....  
  
'Friend'? Yes, she admitted to herself, her friend. Almost her only  
friend, and she could bear to do no single thing to aid ....  
  
Ranma edged a hip onto her bed, drawing her pale and quiet attention.  
As the small, red-headed girl reached out a gentle hand to cup over her  
scarred face, Kodachi watched her gravely and traced her own faint  
scars by eye.  
  
Kodachi fancied that she felt a vague flutter of sensation along the  
facial scan. Something almost too faint to discern and quickly fading.  
As her brother leaned over, equally gravely, to kiss her on the fore-  
head, Kodachi almost wept, but could not. Walls, walls of glass,  
closing her in.  
  
The walls were bad things, but how could she exist without them? Even  
the friendship and concern between Sayuri, Yuka and Akane would be too  
much for her to bear just now, if she must confront them head on.  
  
Sayuri shook her head free of the tri-fold hug and looked concernedly  
at Akane again. "But, Akane-chan, it _looks_ ...."  
  
"Feh," Akane said. "Never you mind. Ranchan says it makes me look  
rakish."  
  
"Well," said Ranma, calmly, "it _does_."  
  
"Oh." Sayuri blinked at Ranma, blinked at Akane, blinked at Ranma  
again. "If you say so, Sempai."  
  
"I do," Ranma said dryly, sliding off the bed. She took the step  
necessary to reach Sayuri and took the other girl gently by the chin,  
holding her face level and looking deep into her eyes. Whatever she may  
have seen there, it seemed to satisfy her, as when she let go she  
nodded calmly. "Yes, you're a lot better. Looks like you're going to  
get well."  
  
Sayuri stood up, to gain a small advantage by being taller than the  
other girl. "I _am_ well, Sempai," she declared firmly.  
  
Ranma gazed at her through her eyelashes, crossing her hands behind her  
back. "You're sure? No nightmares? No lingering shadows? Everything  
just fine?"  
  
"I'm _sure_," Sayuri crossed her arms in front of her and glared at  
Ranma stubbornly, "no, no and _yes_, just _fine_."  
  
Ranma smiled a somewhat crooked smile and brought out her right hand,  
to hold palm upward and cupped in front of Sayuri. As she focused on  
it, it filled with a pearlescent globe of light, which seemed to be  
filled with colors, or perhaps they were shapes.   
  
Whatever they may have been, Sayuri leapt backwards with a strangled  
shriek, hands curling into claws (or, perhaps, to feel the hilt of an  
invisible knife) and rising to strike. Kodachi, reacting to the threat  
signal, tensed to defend, searching automatically for a weapon, buoyed  
by a momentary surge of adrenaline.  
  
Ranma simply held the light globe, bestowing upon Sayuri a somewhat  
sardonic gaze. Sayuri looked up and down between Ranma's face and the  
light a few times, before coming out of a defensive stance and dropping  
her arms to fold her hands together in front of her, ducking her head.  
  
As she did, the light-globe flickered and vanished, and Ranma stepped  
forwards again, reaching out with one finger to tuck it gently under-  
neath her chin and lift up her head. "You know, Sayuri-chan, even very  
brave heroes have to take time out now and then to be healed."  
  
Sayuri flushed scarlet. "Yes, Sempai."  
  
"You're still very much under the _physical_ effects, you know," Ranma  
continued gently. "So you _are_ going to listen to your physical  
therapist, right?"  
  
Meekly, Sayuri said, "Yes, Sempai."  
  
"And you're going to listen to Dr. Tofu, too, right?"  
  
Diminuendo, "Yes, Sempai."  
  
"And you're going to listen to _me_, right?"  
  
Mumbled, with cast-down eyes, "Yes, Sempai."  
  
Ranma let go of Sayuri's chin. "Good. In that case, I think that  
between us we can get you on your feet and back to school in no time.  
No time, in this case, being defined as about a week." Turning to look  
at Kodachi, as well, "For both of you. Also, I would like for you two  
to stay together and do your exercises together while you're at the  
Hospital.   
  
"I was going to suggest that you visit Kodachi-kun when we came over  
today, Sayuri-chan, but since you seem to have anticipated me ...."  
  
Sayuri blushed again. "I didn't want to just _sit_ there ... there  
wasn't anything to do ... Kodachi-chan doesn't have anything to do  
either ...."  
  
Ranma grinned at them, "We brought you some magazines, and some of the  
makings of a small party. So if the emotional hullaballoo is over ...."  
  
Akane grinned at her, Tatewaki and Kodachi nodded gravely and Yuka and  
Sayuri blushed. And Ranma opened the door to the teeming (in a sense)  
multitude (relatively speaking).  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Bosabosa Daisuke, Furinkan High School Class 2-F, was glad to be able  
to (finally) get in the room, pushing past his eternal partner Chapatsu  
Hiroshi in his haste. It wasn't so much that he was eager to see the  
other half of his normal double date and the closest thing he had to a  
girl friend; although he was.   
  
Nor was it the opportunity to be in the same small room with the newly  
triumphant Tendo Akane, although he thought of her as an acquaintance  
and hence, in some small way, shared her glory; although that would  
certainly be a good thing. It wasn't even that the same small room  
would also contain the exotic and utterly beyond cool new arbiter of  
stylishness at Furinkan, Bushiko Ranma; although the closer you stayed  
to her the better.  
  
No, the primary reason for his eagerness was much simpler; he was  
carrying a large plant, and it was getting darn heavy.  
  
It's amazing, sometimes, the small points on which destiny can turn.  
  
He spent the first several moments inside the room looking for some-  
where to set it. Attempting to sort these first impressions gave him a  
few odd data points.  
  
First; the room had, in addition to Sayuri-chan, Yuka-chan, and Akane,  
Ranma, and Tatewaki-sempai, another occupant.  
  
Second; this occupant was a _very_ pretty girl, somewhat pale and grave  
looking.  
  
Third; Tatewaki-sempai was standing by her, and basic deduction told  
him that she must be the room's primary tenant; Tatewaki's sister, who,  
he believed, was named Kodachi.  
  
Fourth; there were lots of places to put flowers, because there were  
almost none already here.  
  
These facts drew forth a chain of deductions, thusly;  
a.) This was a hospital room.  
1.) Belonging to Kuno Kodachi.  
2.) Who is a very pretty girl.  
3.) Who is, in addition, sick.  
A.) In the hospital, in fact.  
B.) Because of wounds sustained during Heroism.  
i.) Which, he, himself, had witnessed.  
b.) There were almost no flowers in this room.  
1.) Being a hospital room, belonging to Kodachi, etc.  
2.) What flowers there were bore tags.  
A.) That said Akane, Ranma or Tatewaki.  
Therefore:  
c.) Kodachi,  
1.) Who was in the hospital.  
2.) And a Hero.  
3.) And a very pretty girl, too.  
d.) Had Almost No Flowers.  
1.) Which was Bad.  
2.) And would probably make her Unhappy.  
A.) Which was Very Bad.  
Moreover:  
e.) He, Bosabosa Daisuke, had Flowers.  
1.) Rather good ones.  
2.) Which could be given to Kodachi.  
A.) Who was a very pretty girl.  
B.) Etcetera.  
3.) Which would make her happy.  
A.) Which would be Good.  
f.) Kodachi had _not_, previously attended Furinkan.  
1.) She had attended some other school.  
A.) Which had not, apparently, sent Flowers.  
i.) And was, therefor, Forever to be Damned.  
2.) She might not be happy with the situation there.  
g.) A good impression of Furinkan High School,  
1.) As provided by, say, Bosabosa Daisuke.  
2.) And possibly others (Grrr).  
3.) As opposed to the Other School.  
h.) Might induce her to transfer.  
1.) To Furinkan.  
2.) Which was co-ed.  
3.) Where her brother already attended.  
Which:  
i.) Would increase the number of pretty girls at Furinkan.  
1.) By at least one.  
2.) Kodachi.  
A.) Who was a very pretty girl.  
B.) Etcetera.  
j.) Which would be a Very Good Thing.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The young man with the unruly hair had given her flowers.  
  
This might, in itself, have been considered normal. Many young men had  
given her flowers.  
  
The interesting thing was; he had not, thereafter, asked her for a  
date.  
  
This was, in her experience, highly abnormal.  
  
Moreover, many of the other people who had come to see Sayuri, presum-  
ably her schoolmates, had _also_ given her flowers. And none of _them_  
had asked her for a date, either.  
  
Or for anything else. Not even obliquely.  
  
It was almost enough to make her think that they liked her.  
  
That was silly, of course, because they hadn't had any opportunity to  
like her, or to know her at all. But still.  
  
There was a small party going on. People had brought chips, and other  
snacks. Someone had put a few packs of them on her bed. For her to eat.  
  
It was a nice party, for a hospital room.  
  
She wished she could take part.  
  
But to do so she would have to lower her walls, and if she did ....  
  
She opened a bag of chips, and ate a few.  
  
But there were such a lot of people around. If even a few of them would  
break the force of anything ... bad ... that happened, she could get  
them back up again.  
  
But why would they do that? They didn't know her at all, and they  
didn't seem to want anything from her. Or even know that there was  
anything to be had.  
  
She ate a few more chips. They weren't too bad.  
  
Not bad at all, really.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
She watched Kodachi, furtively. It looked like she might be opening up  
a bit. It was a _wonderful_ party. Well, for a hospital room, anyway.  
  
She steered the conversation a little bit, so that it would include  
Kodachi, and watched her participate a little. It was a hard thing to  
do, which she hadn't really had to do before, and she didn't think she  
was doing it very well, but nobody seemed to mind, or even notice much.  
  
She stole a few more chips from Hiroshi, and tugged her gowns tighter;  
defying their natural tendency to flop open.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
She ate a few more chips, and then a piece of pocky. They were good.  
  
Gravely, she considered her new flowers.  
  
It occurred to her that _all_ of the flowers had been brought by (and  
bought by) students of Furinkan. Akane-san, Ranma-sensei and oniichan  
were students there too, after all.  
  
None of her schoolmates at St. Herebreke had sent her any flowers. Not  
one. None of them had even _visited_.  
  
Looking around, it _was_ a nice party.  
  
It occurred to her that there might well be more important things to  
look for in a school than exclusivity. When you looked at things  
closely.  
  
It occurred to her that, as of tonight, all of the people whom she  
might call her friends attended Furinkan.  
  
It occurred to her that all of the people she knew at St. Herebreke  
were either enemies, rivals or flunkies.  
  
It occurred to her that flunkies weren't doing her much good at the  
moment.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Ranma was closeted closely with Sayuri, Dr. Tofu and Tatewaki, propping  
herself on the bed where Kodachi could hear. They were discussing  
strategies for therapy and coordinating the therapies that would happen  
in the hospital, with those that Sayuri and Kodachi would have to go  
through after they got out.  
  
"Okay, Kodachi-chan," Sayuri said, perkily, "that's the schedule for  
the hospital sorted out. Do you think we could keep working together  
after we get out. Some of these things are really boring."  
  
Kodachi smiled, for what felt like the first time in weeks, "I think  
so, Sayuri-chan. Tatewaki-oniisan?"  
  
Tatewaki blinked, and looked down. "Yes, Imouto-chan?"  
  
"Please have the family lawyers start the necessary administrative  
tasks to have me transferred to Furinkan."  
  
"Yeee-ha!" Sayuri leapt up into the air, clapping her hands.  
  
Her hands, being thus occupied, could not tighten the ties on her  
hospital gowns.  
  
These, therefor, in conjunction with the prime directive of their  
tribe, untied. Which left nothing at all to hold up the gowns. Which,  
subsequently, fell down.  
  
Yuka and Akane immediately whapped Hiroshi and Daisuke on the back of  
the head.  
  
"What?!" the Average Pair demanded, in unison.  
  
"Hentai," Akane and Yuka explained, not unkindly, also in unison.  
  
"We didn't even look!" Daisuke complained.  
  
"Well, you should have," Akane replied.  
  
"We didn't get a _chance_ to look!" Hiroshi said at the same time. Yuka  
whapped him again. "Ow!"  
  
Tatewaki and Dr. Tofu simultaneously put their heads into their hands,  
in pain.  
  
Ranma calmly stood up and handed Sayuri, who was eeping and trying to  
cover herself, her gowns.  
  
And Kodachi dissolved into giggles, helplessly.  
  
Sayuri hugged her and the other students gathered around to congratu-  
late her on transferring.   
  
It was a beginning.  
  
You may build your walls as high and strong as you may choose. You may  
lay your roof and floor. But you have not built yourself a house, until  
you've built yourself a door.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
It was late, and the sky was dark and shot with stars.  
  
As they left the hospital, Ranma and Akane walked closely together,  
talking. But eventually they came to the street that led, down one way,  
to the Tendo Dojo, and down another, to Ranma's apartment. Here they  
paused for a while.  
  
Finally, they parted, one to go one way, one the other. As they walked,  
each alone, at nearly the same time, they each began to sing, quietly.  
  
Sometimes the snow comes down in June  
Sometimes the sun goes round the moon  
I see the passion in your eyes  
Sometimes it's all a big surprise  
  
It was probably coincidence. Certainly they were each, by that point,  
far out of the other's hearing. There really was no way that they could  
be coordinating with each other. So, despite the fact that a hypothet-  
ical careful observer would have noted that they were in tune and in  
time, it _must_ have been coincidence. There really wasn't any other  
explanation.  
  
Cause there was a time when all I did was wish  
You'd tell me this was love  
It's not the way I hoped or how I planned  
But somehow it's enough  
  
It could have been something of an omen, I suppose, but it wasn't.  
  
But now we're standing face-to-face  
Isn't this world a crazy place  
Just when I thought our chance had passed  
You go and save the best for last  
  
The astute reader may have noticed, in this chapter, several instances  
of occurrences that would, in a normal Ranmaverse, have called for  
Omens of Doom. Thunder from a clear sky, family altars suddenly  
breaking, visits from strange monks, that sort of thing. The astute  
reader may be wondering why such Omens haven't shown up.  
  
All of the nights you came to me  
When some silly girl had set you free  
I wondered how you'd make it through  
I wondered what was wrong with you  
  
It's a fair question.  
  
Cause how could you give your love to someone else  
And share your dreams with me  
Sometimes the very thing you're looking for  
Is the one thing you can't see  
  
The answer is fairly simple. These things are taken care of by kami.  
Not very big, or important kami, it is true, but kami nevertheless.  
Lurking about celestially and waiting for omen-worthy events and  
causing an omen when necessary is simply their job.  
  
But now we're standing face-to-face  
Isn't this world a crazy place  
Just when I thought our chance had passed  
You go and save the best for last  
  
And, like all jobs, its holders occasionally take some time off.  
  
Sometimes the very thing you're looking for  
Is the one thing you can't see  
  
The holder of the position for Nerima ward, at the present moment, is a  
kami named Waruyoi Asabitan. He is presently living up to his name,  
drunk out of his mind in a club in Chiba, karaokeing like there will be  
no tomorrow.  
  
Sometimes the snow comes down in June  
Sometimes the sun goes round the moon  
Just when I thought our chance had passed  
You go and save the best for last  
  
So, you see, I can state with absolute authority that any coincidental  
timing that a hypothetical careful observer might have noted was, in  
fact, just that. Coincidental, and not any sort of omen at all.  
  
You went and saved the best for last, yeah.  
  
What can I say? Some days are just Like That.  
  
You went and saved the best for last, yeah.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Next:  
Chapter Seven: If You Meet The Buddha On The Road  
Part A: Without Troubling of a Star.  
  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Author's Notes: Since this chapter is almost entirely devoted to  
characterization exercises, it seems to me to be an appropriate time  
for me to spend a few words talking about where I'm coming from on that  
subject.  
  
Briefly, I'm a manga fan(atic), and I'm using the canon characteriz-  
ations (as I see them) for a starting point.  
  
The only exception to this is Ranma him/herself, who I basically ran  
through the mill before the story started. That is, I still started  
from canon, but Ranma has already undergone some variance from that by  
this point.  
  
The other main differences arise from a difference in primary goals  
between Takahashi-sensei's story and my own. Briefly, and IMHO, Ranma  
Nibbunnoichi as written is the story of how Saotome Ranma and Tendo  
Akane, despite many obstacles and difficulties, do _not_ get married.  
Whereas, RAALS is the story of how Tendo Akane becomes a Hero, and  
Saotome Ranma becomes a Hero _again_.  
  
Since the demands of the story drive characterization this invokes some  
differences from standard, but it's not that the characters themselves  
are particularly different, as that being in different sort of story  
requires them to act in different ways than they normally would.  
  
With that said:  
  
Saotome Ranma (nee Bushiko): Ranma is a Hero. It's one of the two main  
cornerstones of his personality. The other cornerstone is his sense of  
identity. Broadly put, Ranma _always_ knows _exactly_ who he is and how  
he's supposed to act. This self knowledge is so strong that he is,  
effectively, unbeatable; it's not that you can't beat him up, so much  
as that you can't make him stay down. He _never_ quits, and he _always_  
keeps his main goal clearly in mind.  
  
On the other hand, that same sense of identity is also his biggest  
weakness. He is quite capable of running right over good sense and  
social duties alike when he gets the idea that something is important;  
he has very little ability to turn back from a contest even if he would  
prefer to; he has hot-buttons all over him, and they can lead him  
around if they are pushed and he will occasionally get the idea that he  
should do something or act like something simply because 'a guy would  
...' or 'a martial artist would ...'.  
  
My Ranma is several years of experience older than that, and has  
mellowed a fair degree. Also, he/she has refined that sense of identity  
down to the most important elements. In particular, for instance, the  
Jhusenkyou curse, which hits the canon Ranma as hard as it does because  
it strikes directly at the heart of his greatest strength, his sense of  
identity ("I'm a _guy_!" and then, suddenly _he's not_.)  
  
In trade, however, she has lost a lot of her moral edge and her Hero's  
instincts for doing the _right_ thing at the _right_ time. That is, the  
strong sense of identity that sometimes blinds the canon Ranma to the  
likely result of his actions is turned around so that it is blinding  
this Ranma to the truth of her _motivations_, instead.  
  
Tendo Akane is also a Hero, although in canon not a very well developed  
one. If anything her own sense of herself as a hero is even stronger  
than Ranma's, as evidenced, among other instances, by the Martial Arts  
Gymnastics storyline.  
  
This strength is somewhat the backwards of Ranma, in that, while Ranma  
always knows who he is, but sometimes loses track of where he's going,  
Akane always knows where she's going, but sometimes loses track of who  
she is. This frequently blinds her to her own abilities and _dis_  
abilities and also causes her to be more impetuous than even _Ranma_  
manages.  
  
A lot of this problem in self-realization may stem from a lack of  
feedback from outside sources. In another sense, while canon Ranma is  
allowed to be who he is, but frequently encounters people who are  
unwilling to allow him to do the things that are right for the person  
he is to do, canon Akane has few people trying to prevent her from  
doing what she wants, but has great difficulty getting people to take  
her identity seriously. (Thus the frequent battle cry: "I'm a Martial  
Artist, too!" (Thus, also, her great dismay at the names Ranma tends to  
call her: Akane is a girl _and_ a Martial Artist, but most people don't  
think of her as a 'proper' martial artist, and here Ranma is calling  
into question her status as a 'proper' girl ....)  
  
So a lot of her actions are a quest for respect, self respect as much  
as any other, but since she tends to doubt her _own_ abilities some-  
times, too, she's far too likely to try to proceed directly to the  
desired results rather than actually trying to _earn_ them. Thus her  
problems with cooking, for example, and also the Super-Soba and Battle  
Dogi story arcs, among others.  
  
In RAALS she is unencumbered by the handicap of being a girl in a  
shonen (boy's) manga who doesn't wear a bikini or pack a BFG9000, and  
will therefor get a much better chance to show what she can do.  
  
Nabiki and Kasumi are both Girl Archetypes, in one sense or another.  
Nabs is Modern Girl, with her pulse on the finger of the social scene  
and no patience with the 'old ways'. She's effective, and she's cute,  
but she's scary, too: you can't be sure that she'll stay in check, and  
she's too scary to go up against directly. Kasumi is traditional girl,  
serene and untroubled, i.e. she's Mom. She's nice, and a good  
housewife, but she's scary, too: you never know, she might _be_ Mom.  
Or, she might suddenly wash your mouth out with soap and send you to  
bed without supper. You can't be sure.  
  
Tatewaki and Kodachi are brats in the manga, plain and simple. Tate-  
waki, also, may well not be terribly bright, but it's hard to tell,  
because of how much of a brat he is. Likewise Kodachi manages to  
counterfeit being crazy pretty well. The thing about being a brat,  
however, is that it's an hole that you can easily pull out of, assuming  
that you can grow up fast enough. And if a big enough shock makes you  
grow up ...  
  
Sayuri is Everygirl, like Yuka, and Hiroshi and Daisuke as well.  
Admittedly, when I started RAALS, I had no idea I needed an Everygirl  
to be heroic, and had no idea that Sayuri would turn into one, but ....  
  
Further notes will be provided as characters show up.  
  
'Til next,  
Eric Hallstrom, 01/16/2001 


End file.
